


The Surfacing

by Monker



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: AU, Action, Angst, Bickering, Calling Richard out on his shit, Camille is amazing, Camille is not very subtle, Comfort, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Finished, First Kiss, First Time, Gun Violence, Holding Hands, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Kissing, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, PG Tips, Pining, Reunions, Richard Poole is a great leader, Richard has emotions, Richard is awkward, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Survival story, Violence Towards Animals, but it is worth it, completed work, descriptions of violence, like...super slow burn, lots of hugging, main characters in peril, man tears, minor horror, minor injury, monster au, neck kisses, not so accidental boob graze, questionable medicine, safe sex, season 3 never happened, strong language (sometimes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-07-09 15:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 83,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monker/pseuds/Monker
Summary: Everyone would agree that the end of the world is just about the most inconvenient time to discover you're in love with someone. When deadly monsters surface on St. Marie, Richard Poole leads a group of survivors to a part of the island where the creatures don't go. Weary under his burden of leadership, he must struggle to keep everyone safe from the looming threat of these monsters that could rise up from the ground at any time. And while he's at it, it would be lovely if he could also convince his heart to stop aching for the detective sergeant who plagues his every thought.Completed story, expect regular updates. Rating and tags will be altered as chapters are added.





	1. Survival

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I have to say, I am VERY excited to be sharing this story with you. I started work on it a little over a year ago and am so happy it's finally complete! I love Death in Paradise and have wanted to add another story to the fandom for a long time. Thanks for checking it out!
> 
> The idea for this story came from a dream I had. I was running through a jungle and I knew I was being chased by something trying to eat me. Then out of nowhere, Richard Poole appeared, dressed like Indiana Jones and with a full beard. He grabbed me and told me where I needed to run and that he would "hold them off!" I woke up and was like, "What the heck was that? And since when did Richard Poole become such a badass?" So my mind got to work with creating the type of story that would have to exist around a scene like that, and the AU you are about to read is a result of that. I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> A big thanks, as always, to my amazing and diligent beta, acemerrill. You know you're the best thing that ever happened to my writing (and I'm honored to call you "friend"). 
> 
> Now, on to the story! I hope you enjoy it! Deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: Richard’s personality has changed a little bit in this story, due to the circumstances. I think I justify it well enough within the context of the story, but until you reach that part, he might seem a little ooc to some of you. I apologize for that.
> 
> I also apologize for the density of the first few pages, but the story requires a little bit of world-building before we dive in. If you can soldier through the first few paragraphs, I promise the pacing picks up after that.

Chapter One: Survival

Technically, they weren’t extraterrestrials; that much was very clear, at least to Richard Poole. The word “extra-terrestrial” obviously means “other worldly,” or originating from some place other than earth. But this species appeared to very much originate from earth. Directly from it, as a matter of fact. It was some kind of underground creature that for some reason decided to surface. Richard attributed their sudden appearance surface-side to the recent earth quakes (uncharacteristic to the region) that Saint Marie and her surrounding islands had been experiencing. Or perhaps that ought to be swapped around. Perhaps the earth quakes should be attributed to these bizarre creatures. In either case, the early news reports that began the hysterical, public commentary of an “ET attack” were technically inaccurate. They weren’t extra-terrestrial, but rather, Richard took to calling them crypto-terrestrials: of the earth, but not understood.

What _was_ understood about them was that they were very hostile, they attacked in groups of five or six, and they appeared to be drawn towards hot-blooded creatures. That last one puzzled Richard, because it begged the question: If these creatures fed on warm-blooded prey, what had they been living off of through all of their centuries (or millennia) below ground? Another known fact had unfortunately not been discovered until a couple of weeks after the attacks began, and that was that the creatures could dig through most types of terrain with ease, except for the harder, igneous rock that formed the base of Mount Esmée, the island’s sole volcanic mountain. It was here that Richard and 35 other inhabitants of the island took shelter and set up camp, inside a large cave with a deceptively small mouth not far up the base of the mountain.

Between them, they had managed to salvage forty blankets, ten water containers, four handguns and one rifle, nine flashlights, upwards of twenty cooking and eating vessels of varying sizes, one box of hand tools, one machete, and about half a ton of food. Also three dogs. Richard wasn’t sure why they were harboring pets when it was hard enough to insure the survival of the group’s human members, but apparently the animals provided some sort of calming presence, especially for the young ones in the group, so Richard allowed it. Obviously, food and water were the two resources that were depleted the quickest, so they had to be replenished by special resource expeditions every few days.

There was a property farther up the mountain that housed a coffee plantation. Coffee beans were understandably not much use without any means of roasting and pressing them, but the plantation had other uses. Only three people lived up there now and they generously allowed the group of survivors to access their water lines as long as they were still active. But much of the house and other structures that had once stood on the plantation had been severely damaged in the earthquakes, so Richard did not deem it a safe shelter for his group of survivors. Additionally, there were several members of his party left back at the cave who were either too old, too young, or too injured to safely make the trek up to the plantation on foot.

Because of these reasons, Richard left the base camp down in the cave and only brought small water teams up to the plantation to replenish their containers. He had tried, on every visit, to convince the small family remaining at the plantation to come back down the mountain and join the other survivors. But they always refused. Their family had a long history at that plantation, and they wouldn’t leave it now; something between pride and fear kept them from it. So the family always remained, and Richard would bring them some supplies to trade whenever he was able.

Richard was one of three men who had been unceremoniously elected as the ultimate authorities of the group. The other men were Dr. Booker Holden and Ronnie Cartwright. The former was a physician who had lived and worked on the island for ten years, and the latter was a hardware store owner and father of four who had no other qualifications except for innate leadership skills and the general respect of the group. Richard wasn’t entirely sure how the three of them all came to hold these positions of authority, but in this matter of crisis, Dr. Holden, Ronnie, and himself were the ones all others seemed to turn to. They accepted this, and Richard was ultimately pleased with the arrangement.

Before the crypto-terrestrials emerged and flung reality into a state of disaster, Richard had had little reason to socialize with the general public of St. Marie. Largely, his only real relationships on the island were with his colleagues on the police force or with their family members. He had met Dr. Holden maybe once before, and he had bought a few things at Ronnie’s shop to conduct his makeshift forensic experiments for a few cases, but he hadn’t really gotten to know either one of them before this…experience. It wasn’t long before Richard found himself respecting and even liking both of them. It was clear to him why the others in the group deferred so easily to their guidance. Ronnie was a man of great character, practical skills, and bold leadership. Dr. Holden too had a great moral compass, but also a pragmatic attitude and a sharp intellect. Richard wasn’t quite as clear what made the people place their faith so easily in himself, except that it was the responsibility of the police force to provide safety and order to the community. It was only natural then that the members of the public would look to him for continued safety in circumstances like these. Their little ring of leadership were collectively referred to as just The Three, and they could often be found removing themselves off to a quiet corner and deliberating under their breath for several minutes before returning to the group to relay the plan.

After The Three, there was a second group of able-bodied volunteers that made up the main work force of the group. This group was comprised of men and women who had athletic skill, weapons and/or combat training, camping or hunting skills, or who were otherwise capable and willing to lend a hand. These were the people who made the recurring resource expeditions. Dwayne Myers and Fidel Best, two of Richard’s fellow police officers, were both a part of this group. Others who were not skilled in the ways previously described, or who had physical limitations would serve as lookout, would be in charge of meal and water distribution, or would handle the other daily chores around the camp.

Mainly, the goal was simple survival. Until the cryptos could be eradicated, Saint Marie would not be inhabitable, so the main task at hand was to survive until an evacuation of the island’s remaining human population could be mounted. But that time would prove difficult to predict. Before the island’s power grid and sole cell tower collapsed, news of the outside world was largely filled with similar panic. The cryptos had surfaced not only on Saint Marie, but on other islands across the Caribbean and also stretching into South America. Venezuela, Columbia, and even the northern part of Brazil were all affected. Eventually, help would come, but only after the crypto problem could be dealt with in the south. Island countries were always the last to receive aid. Richard and the other survivors would just have to hold out until their rescue could come.

That survival was made increasingly difficult as time went on. The cryptos continued to burrow under the townships of Saint Marie, destabilizing the cities’ foundations and slowly causing the island’s infrastructure to fail. When the island’s lone cell tower collapsed, Richard’s group lost all means of communicating with anyone else on the island. That is, assuming that there was in fact “anyone else.” He hoped there were other survivors elsewhere on the island. Surely his merry band of 36 people and three dogs were not the only survivors on an island that used to be home to ten thousand. But no one could really be sure until a means of communication could be established.

It was Ronnie who finally came up with a way of potentially contacting the other survivors. “There is a clearing,” the tall man said, looking down at the cave floor to watch his step as he and the doctor and inspector quietly moved to the side of the cave. “Halfway up the mountain. Our water teams pass it headed up to the plantation.”

“Yes, I know the one,” Richard replied, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You can see it from anywhere in Honoré,” Ronnie went on in his thick Caribbean accent.

“He’s right,” Dr. Holden confirmed. “Before the buggers surfaced, I remember being able to see it from my office window.”

Richard looked over at the doctor and nodded thoughtfully, then turned back to Ronnie. “What are you thinking? Some kind of signal?”

Ronnie nodded. “I think, if we gather together the brightest fabrics we can find, lots of whites and anything else that will stand out against the green of the trees, and we fasten them together, corner to corner, we can make something like a long banner. If we can make two, even better. We can hang them like a giant X over the clearing. Something so big would surely be noticeable from the town. Any survivors who are still down there would be able to see it if they looked up, and they would know it must be manmade. It would be enough to show them that there is life up here. Relative safety.”

“It’d have to be bloody big,” Dr. Holden mused, and the other men could finish the rest of that thought in their minds: _Where would we get that much material?_

Holden and Ronnie looked over at Richard expectantly. He looked between them and sighed heavily. He knew the point they were trying to make, and he hated it. Richard was always the most reluctant to sanction expeditions off of the mountain. As soon as they set foot on soft ground, their lives were in danger. They had already had to make four trips back to the outskirts of Honoré, and on the last excursion, they had lost a man and one other woman had been injured. Richard had basically relegated trips off the mountain to being strictly a last resort after that (and the group had been eating mostly naturally-occurring foods ever since). For this project, they could see if the Beaumont family up at the plantation had any fabrics they wanted to donate. But even with that, Richard knew they wouldn’t have close to enough. Besides, the few blankets their group already had couldn’t be spared. Though Richard had often cursed the god-forsaken heat of this tropical island, the nights could get decently cool, doubly so when sleeping in a damp cave. No, the only way Ronnie’s idea could possibly work is if they could send a team (maybe a few teams) off mountain to gather the resources required.

Richard could tell, based off of their silence and expectant looks, that the other two had already made up their minds, which meant he was the last hold-out. He inhaled and turned to look at the shabby little remnant of humanity they had holed up in this dank little sanctuary. Several of the pairs of eyes quickly averted away from him when he turned their direction. He knew what they were wondering. They were hoping that The Three were coming up with a way to save them, to somehow get them off of this cursed rock. They thought this small colloquy was discussing their salvation, not realizing that they were actually discussing a plan which might only result in more of their lives being lost.

He looked at their faces, but in his imagination, he saw different faces. Hypothetical ones. Ones he hadn’t seen in months, but which he had once seen around the island every single day. He wondered if those people were still alive, if they were out there somewhere, if they could make it all the way here if they only knew which way to go. Specifically, his mind’s eye settled on one face in particular, with soft skin and even softer eyes. Richard gulped and blinked away the image. The other two men waited for his answer, not recognizing the painful pang of hope that flashed through his eyes in that moment before he gulped. “Do it,” he said, his voice catching in his throat and causing him to cough.

Dr. Holden reached out a hand and rested it on Richard’s shoulder. “Have you had your water yet today, Inspector?” he asked when the other man had gotten his coughing under control.

Richard shook his head in answer, not trusting his voice yet.

“You should go get that,” Ronnie chimed in. “Holden and I will go interview the men to get some volunteers.”

“No more than five, including whichever of us is going,” Richard stipulated. He wanted to arm as many of them as possible, but they only had a total of six weapons, counting the machete, so they had to be conservative.

“I think that ought to be me, considering the fact that it was my hare-brained idea in the first place,” Ronnie said with a rueful smile.

“Hare-brained or brilliant, only time will tell,” Dr. Holden joked, and all three men smiled and laughed a little as they broke out of their meeting. It wasn’t something they ever established explicitly, but they all tried to have positive attitudes and expressions on their faces when they broke from their meetings, knowing that the rest of the group would have their eyes fixed on them. It was always encouraging to see your leaders relaxed and in pleasant moods. The situation was usually somber enough without frowns added to the mix.

Richard wandered over to the “pantry” where the water and food was kept, and Mrs. Beecher immediately grabbed a steel cup and filled it with water from one of the jugs. The old woman held it out to him with a smile, and Richard answered the smile with a crooked one of his own as he took the cup.

“I thought you might be skipping your glass again today,” Mrs. Beecher said.

“ _Shh_ ,” Richard replied sharply, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the good doctor hadn’t heard her. “That’s supposed to be between you and me, Mrs. Beecher, remember?”

“Oh-no,” the woman answered with a wagging shake of the head. “I don’t care if you’re the boss; I’m not above tattling. Got to keep you boys healthy, even if I have to wrestle you down first.”

Richard smirked at her fondly as he lifted the cup to his lips and took a drink. The lukewarm liquid sliding down his dry throat felt like an avalanche of life-force. He licked his lips when he was through. “And that’s how you got this job: because you’re ruthless,” he said in answer, leaning forward to return the little cup to her.

The old woman burst into a booming laugh that echoed through the cave, and Richard felt lucky. It wasn’t often that any one of them heard laughter these days. He was thankful their group had someone the likes of Mrs. Beecher, who always seemed just a nudge away from a guffaw at any moment. He looked around the group and noticed several other people looking over at the two of them and laughing quietly. The woman thought she was responsible only for the water, not even realizing that she portioned out an even more precious commodity.

Richard noticed, in that moment, another lady approaching him: Lily Shaw. She too was an individual with whom he had only crossed paths once or twice before the cryptos surfaced. Now, she had become a vital contributing member to their little group. She also had a little smile on her face as she approached him with a damp cloth, handing it to him. Richard happily accepted the cloth and dragged it over his face and around the back of his neck.

“What were you three chatting about over there?” Lily asked, crossing her arms.

Richard gathered up the tails of his shirt and reached the cloth up to wipe over his chest and under his arms. Proper baths happened only rarely, so this was the common alternative. “A plan to try to contact the others on the island,” he answered.

“Do you need volunteers?” Lily asked, causing the inspector to look over at her with a subtle smile. Lily was just a civilian, but her bravery did her a great credit. Richard couldn’t help but think she would have made a fine police officer with the proper training.

“What’s the plan?” someone interjected from a mat on the floor, having overheard Richard.

Richard looked over at the woman who had asked the question. He couldn’t quite remember her name. Started with an S, he thought. But when he glanced around his immediate vicinity, he noticed several people watching him, waiting for his answer.

“Ahhem, yes. Excuse me!” Richard said, clearing his throat and lifting his voice for the whole cave to hear. That little cup of water was revealed to be inadequate in totally smoothing his vocal cords and Richard had to cough and clear his throat again before continuing. “Can everybody hear me?” He looked to the back of the “room” to see the nods of confirmation before continuing. “Yes, alright. Well, we’ve come up with an idea to try to contact the other survivors on the island.” As soon as he said so, he heard a murmur of excitement rumble throughout the group. “It involves creating a signal, a beacon of sorts that we will install in the clearing halfway up the mountain. That clearing is visible from fifty percent of the island and we are hoping that, if we put something big enough there, our friends and loved ones will be able to see it and know that there is safety to be found on this mountain. To do this, we will need to collect…” Richard turned down his mouth into a frown and shrugged pointedly towards Ronnie on the other side of the cave, beckoning his input.

“Any white shirts, towels, or blankets you might have. As well as sewing and tying supplies,” Ronnie responded from where he stood, causing the whole congregation to turn and look at him. “We want to string these items together to make two large banners. We’re hoping that with enough of them, we can create an X, big enough to make out from anywhere on this side of the mountain.”

Richard took over the announcement again after that. “Obviously, don’t part with anything unless you are completely able. We will send two groups out to collect more material: One group that will go up to the plantation and collect some from there, and another that will go down into Honoré to see what can be found.”

A different kind of murmur rippled through the room at that news. Richard looked over at Dr. Holden anxiously at the reaction, and the good doctor spoke up. “Obviously, for that last group, you’ll be armed so we will need a few volunteers who we know can handle a gun. But this is strictly on a volunteer basis.”

“I’ll be leading the Honoré group,” Ronnie said.

“And I’ll be taking the group up to the plantation,” Richard quickly added, before Holden had the chance. “In either case, our excursions won’t happen until tomorrow morning. So at some point tonight, if you’d like to volunteer for either group, please talk to either me or Ronnie and we’ll get the teams sorted. Thank you for listening and if you have any questions, talk to Ronnie.”

When he was finished with his speech, the room roared to life as all of the little family groups turned and started talking amongst themselves about the news. Richard noticed Fidel turn and say something to his wife and then get up. Quickly, Richard closed the distance between them and caught Fidel by the arm just as the police sergeant was about to head in Ronnie’s direction.

“Ah, Fidel,” Richard said, nonchalantly. “I could use your help tomorrow on the plantation group.”

“But sir, I was just about to go volunteer for the other group.”

“Of course you were, but no. I’ll really be needing you in mine.”

“But why?”

“Sorry?”

“Why will you be needing me? You will just be carrying blankets down the mountain. But I have firearm experience and combat training that will really be useful in the other group,” Fidel argued.

Richard was caught. His sergeant made several good points, and Richard could not reasonably justify the request he was making. But he looked down at Fidel’s wife, and the little daughter she held in her lap. He had a feeling his motivations were perfectly transparent, but he held fast anyway. “This isn’t a debate, Fidel. You can go on the next one, but tomorrow, you’ll be coming with me. That’s an order.” Without leaving room for rebuttal, he turned and walked away, perfectly aware of the look of adolescent persecution on Fidel’s face behind him.

Richard needed air. Even if it was hot, it would at least be fresh. He tried to maintain his aplomb, but the truth of the matter was: he hated the idea of sending another team off the mountain. The anxiety started to climb in his chest from the moment the idea was suggested, and that tension wouldn’t drop again until every member of the team was returned safely to the camp, unscathed. And if that didn’t happen, then the anxiety would only be replaced with a tremendous guilt, a feeling with a much longer shelf-life.

Richard walked up to the mouth of the cave, where Dwayne sat as lookout, the loaded rifle resting in his lap. “Let me guess,” the police officer said, “you just recruited Fidel for the safe team.”

“Plantation team,” Richard corrected, perching one foot up on a rock and gazing out at the wooded view before him.

Dwayne shook his head and also turned to look out at the expanse of greenery. “You won’t be able to protect him forever.”

“I won’t be able to protect any of you forever. That’s rather the point,” Richard admitted solemnly. He could see Dwayne look over at him in his periphery. Dwayne was one of the few people who still got to see Richard’s occasional admissions of weakness. He mostly tried to put on a brave face in front of everyone else, but the shrewd police officer was too close to Richard to be so easily fooled at this point.

Richard squinted against the afternoon sky, adding, “Fidel has a family, and it’s best that his sense of duty not cloud his ability to remember that.”

Dwayne let the point rest for a moment, and then added, “And it’s probably best that you remember that Fidel also has many useful skills that could save lives out there. With him a part of it, the group has a better chance of coming back all in one piece. You know that.”

Richard sighed and looked down at the ground. “I’ll think about it,” he said at last, glumly. After that, a silence stretched out between them, Dwayne knowing that that was as much of a victory on this topic as he was likely to get. Richard looked out at the jungle, imagining the city that rested at the edge of it, far from view.

“This X of yours,” Dwayne began after some time. “Do you think she’ll see it?”

Again, a pang pinched Richard deep within his chest as he stared out the mouth of the cave. He wouldn’t say so out loud, but he was feeling rather desperate at this point. It had been over two months, and he didn’t even know if Camille was still alive.

“I supposed we’ll find out,” was all he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for chapter one! As I stated in my opening, this story has been a LONG TIME in the making, so I would really appreciate hearing your thoughts on it along the way. Comments and kudos always mean the world to me! :) Thanks for reading! And expect the next chapter soon!


	2. What was needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of characters and situations from Death Knocks Twice, a canon Death in Paradise novel by Robert Thorogood. No spoilers for it though, and you don't have to have read that book in order to understand this chapter. I just thought a tie-in would be fun. And the novel introduced something into the canon of the DiP universe that I couldn't easily ignore if I was situating my story on Mt. Esmee. 
> 
> Also, a brief reference to S01E03 "Predicting Murder" that is maybe a little spoilery. But honestly, if you haven't seen the 3rd episode of the entire series, and you are already reading deep AU fanfiction, then aren't we just a wee bit eager? ;) lol

Chapter Two: What was needed

The Beaumonts had effectively moved into the old drying shed on their property. It was the only structure on the whole plantation that was made entirely of stone, and as such, it was the most stable. The drying shed had been converted to a shower room in recent decades, and even more recent than that, it had served as the crime scene in one of Richard’s cases. But now, Richard tried not to let his mind wander back to that time and that case. Not because it could potentially make things awkward between himself and the remaining members of the Beaumont family, but because every single one of those memories involved a certain detective sergeant, who he was very much trying to keep out of his thoughts as of late.

“What have you brought for us today, Detective Inspector?” Mr. Beaumont asked, stepping out of the drying shed, wiping his hands on what appeared to be an already dirty rag.

“Food mostly,” Richard answered, looking down into his satchel.

“Where’re the rest of your jugs?” Mr. Beaumont asked, noticing how only two of Richard’s men carried the usual water containers in their hands.

Richard glanced over his shoulder at his men, nodding towards the hose for them to get started on the water before answering, “We’re only doing a half load of the water today. Hoping to carry something else down.” Richard handed the satchel over to the other man.

There was a curious expression in the man’s eyes as he peered down into the bag. “Thank you,” he said when he looked back up at Richard. Food was growing to be a more and more precious commodity. So when it was given freely, even in small quantities, it was a large gesture. “What were you looking for?”

“Sheets, tarps, ropes, anything big and brightly colored that resembles a blanket.”

Again, Mr. Beaumont cast a curious look in the inspector’s direction. “Doesn’t sound like that’s just for warmth anymore.”

“No, we think we have a plan. A way of potentially contacting the others on the island, but we’ll have to use a lot of materials to stand a chance of it being seen.”

“Well you’re welcome to look in the house. We have lots of bedrooms in there that still have the sheets on the beds. But I’d be careful. Especially on the first floor, the floors aren’t always stable. And don’t have anyone in the rooms below if you’re going to have people up searching the other floor at the same time. That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Noted,” Richard said, turning to stare at the foreboding manor. Without meaning to, his mind took him back to the first time he stepped foot in it, so long ago now. He had been wearing a dark, woolen suit which stood in stark contrast to the green, cotton trousers and short-sleeved, checkered shirt of his beautiful colleague. In truth, his old attire stood in contrast to just about everything on this island. It had been earlier that morning that Richard could recall his subordinates all trying to cajole him into wearing shorts and several loud, tropical-themed shirts, which he had adamantly rejected, opting instead for his staple, professional attire, heat be damned.

Fast forward a bit and now, the white shirt was the only piece from his original ensemble that he still wore, though to be accurate, it was really more of a drab tan these days. He wore it without a tie or jacket and with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms at all times. His heavy trousers had been traded in for a pair of cargos, and his brogues had been replaced by a pair of loose-fitting hiking boots that had once belonged to Mrs. Beecher’s late husband. With the steady beard that was overtaking the lower half of his face, Richard imagined he more closely resembled an Indiana Jones-esque character rather than a typical, English police detective. He wondered if Camille would even recognize him if she could see him now.

“On second thought, I’d better go in with you,” Mr. Beaumont said, yanking Richard out of his thoughts and back to reality. He suddenly recalled that they were just discussing the dangers of Beaumont Manor.

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you,” Richard began, but his objection was cut off by the other man’s hasty reply.

“Well good, as long as we’ve established that you couldn’t ask for it,” he said cheekily with a slap to Richard’s back, and then he headed off towards the house.

After some talk it was decided that the plantation might have other resources that would be useful to the project, so Richard split his team into two. Fidel and he would accompany Mr. Beaumont into the manor and salvage whatever they could find. The remaining four members of his team would check the other storage buildings around the plantation for any ropes, tarps, and tools they could find.

It was slow work. As long as they were on the ground floor, they were in relative safety, but as soon as they moved upstairs to the first floor, every step had to be tested and retested before they could commit their weight to it. They stripped the ground floor of all of its many drapes and curtains, as well as the formal table cloths. In the kitchen, they found many hand rags, but Richard thought they would be too small. They would all have to be sewn together to make a bigger footprint before they would really be useful for this project. Richard instructed Fidel to remove them from the house anyway, just to make them more accessible. They wouldn’t carry these smaller rags all the way down to the camp unless they proved desperate enough for fabric yardage later.

The first floor was where all of the bedrooms were located, and as promised, the beds were all still fully dressed in their linens. It was a rather eerie feeling, walking into a bedroom that had been totally deserted at the drop of a hat. Even though the room looked as though someone could have occupied it only yesterday, Richard still felt like he had stepped through a time machine, not because the furniture was outdated, but because the life that furniture represented was. Richard walked by a vanity, noticing a brush on the desk, strands of yellow hair still caught in the bristles. Suddenly something that used to be so commonplace and useful now seemed totally foreign to him and completely without importance, a luxury and a triviality all at the same time.

They slowly and systematically worked themselves from room to room. Stripping every bed and emptying the linen closets they encountered along the way. It was a big house, and a part of Richard felt they had hit the jackpot with this particular excursion. But the logistician side of his brain suspected that they would likely need a great deal more than this to really make the sign noticeable. He could only hope that Ronnie’s team was finding comparable success down in Honoré. And that they were staying safe, of course.

Even as the words were crossing through his mind, Richard felt the floor board beneath his left foot give way. His leg punched a hole through the ground and he heard the ceiling below him go crashing into dining room on the ground floor. He would have fallen even more if it weren’t for Fidel’s tight grip on the front of his shirt, hauling him back to safety. The two men fell back onto their rears, each panting from the fright of a close call, with Fidel cradling his boss back against his chest.

Richard sat up slightly to peer through the hole he had created in the floor. A fall like that would have definitely broken his leg, if not much worse. He looked back at Fidel, a look of gratitude in his eye. Then he said, “See? I told you I’d be needing you today.”

Fidel rolled his eyes which ended in a pointed glare at his boss. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

Richard breathed out a laugh and all he could do was grin at the other man before they both moved to stand back up. Richard struggled, only noticing for the first time that he was not exactly unscathed. His left leg was cut up badly, and his knee felt like it needed to pop.

Fidel held onto Richard by the forearms, letting the older man steady himself as they both looked down at the damage. “Can you walk on it?” he asked.

“I think so,” Richard answered, putting a bit of pressure on his leg just to test it.

“Why don’t you take what we have and carry it back outside? Mr. Beaumont and I will finish up with the last few rooms, and Dr. Holden can have a look at you when we get back to camp,” Fidel said, still looking down at the inspector’s leg.

“Yes chief,” Richard said, smirking up at Fidel, which earned him another roll of the eyes.

“It should only take a few more minutes, _sir_.”

Richard bent to gather the latest wad of bed sheets into his arms. “Right then, carry on Fidel. And do be safe about it.”

Walking down a set of stairs with a giant ball of fabric in one’s arms is not easy. Nor is doing so with a hurt leg. Nor is doing so when the stairs are not all reliable and have to each be tested before it can be trusted. But slowly, with a great deal of caution (and some discomfort), Richard eventually managed.

He made it outside and deposited his load on the ground, finding the remaining members of his team already hard at work to fold and wrap the fabrics into manageable bundles. They were taking their cues from Haley Matheson, a dental hygienist who spent her summers working at a youth camp (where she evidently came to be very good at tying knots). She seemed to have things pretty well in hand, so Richard saw no need to interject. He walked over to a shady place and sat down, waiting for his team to be ready to go. About thirty minutes later, Fidel reemerged from the house with Mr. Beaumont and the remaining piles of sheets. Haley walked over to the police sergeant and showed him how to wrap the sheets into three large bundles. Richard watched his group with keen interest, and resisted the urge to hike up his trouser leg and examine his hurt knee; that was the sort of thing that only drew attention, and Richard never needed attention (unless, of course, he felt he had something very interesting or important to say). He couldn’t totally stop the grimace from his face though when Haley motioned to him that they were ready and Richard then tried to stand up.

They all looked like a band of strange Santa Clauses as they each hoisted a big, bulky bag over their shoulders. Richard struggled a little under the weight of his own. “Right then. We all ready?” he asked, watching as the last of them got their burdens situated. Richard shifted his grip a little to free up his right hand for a moment, extending it to Mr. Beaumont. The other man shook it as Richard said, “Mr. Beaumont, thank you once again.”

“Come back any time,” he answered.

After that, the group began the long trek back down the mountain. If he allowed himself the briefest moment of self congratulations, Richard would have to point out how he had really seen his physical endurance improve over the last few months. The distance between the plantation and the camp was probably close to six miles, roundtrip, and much of that was over steep and uneven terrain. Richard lost count of the number of times he had personally made the journey there and back again, but suffice it to say, he handled the physical toll a lot better now than he did two months ago.

Or rather, he would be handling it better, if it weren’t for his throbbing leg. Sweat dripped from his forehead and Richard realized he wasn’t breathing very evenly, holding his breath in extended intervals to keep from grunting against the pain.

He had only made it about a third of the way down before he felt the burden being lifted from his shoulders. In a whirl of confusion, Richard turned around to find Claude Palmer taking the detective’s bundle of sheets and adding it to his own. He then handed Richard the smallest jug of water they had, and just kept walking, without a word. Claude was not that far from Richard in age, perhaps just a few years younger, but he was big and burly. Richard couldn’t now recall what Claude did as an occupation before the surfacing. In fact, the only first-hand memory of him Richard had was when he had to issue a formal warning for disorderly conduct to him after Claude had had a few too many drinks at Catherine’s bar. Probably not the best introduction. But whether it was intentional or not, the man was making up for that first impression now. The water jug was substantially lighter than the dense ball of fabric had been, and Richard’s knee was grateful for the relief immediately.

Richard did hazard a look around him at his other compatriots though, and they all respectfully kept their gazes averted. He didn’t much care for the feeling of not being able to “pull his own weight” as it were, but it was obvious to him that the others didn’t intend to make a big deal of it, so Richard was left with no other option but to follow in their footsteps and try let it go.

A little over an hour later, the group finally returned to the camp. Approaching the mouth of the cave, Richard saw Dr. Holden sitting on a fallen tree beside a young man. The young man had his head drooped between his legs and the doctor held a wet rag against the back of the boy’s neck. Richard instructed Fidel to take the others into the cave and find a suitable place to deposit their bounty while he himself walked over to join the doctor and his ward.

“Good lord, that’s a lot of sheets,” Holden said, looking over his shoulder at the returning plantation crew.

“In fact, that is a lot of sheets, drapes, towels, blankets, tarps, shower curtains, and table cloths,” Richard corrected, setting his little jug of water down on the ground.

“Well well,” the doctor replied, impressed. “You certainly made a good run of it, didn’t you?”

“Indeed. What do we have here?” Richard asked, clasping his hands behind his back and looking down at the young man.

“Well, this is Trevor,” Holden said, brightening up his voice in the way grown-ups always did when they didn’t want kids to be overly concerned at their words. “And he was feeling a bit poorly, so we thought we’d come have a nice sit out here for a while.” The doctor grabbed one of Trevor’s hands and moved it to hold the damp rag in place. “Can you hold onto this for me, Trevor? I’m going to go have a word with the inspector for a bit, okay?”

The young man just moaned and weakly nodded his head. Holden stood and shared a pointed look with Richard before both men turned and put a few paces between themselves and the boy. “Anything I should be worried about there?” Richard asked quietly with a nod back in Trevor’s direction.

“Well he’s sick, Richard, and I have no means of helping him, so,” the doctor snapped.

“Alright, alright,” Richard recoiled, holding up his hands both defensively and calmingly at the same time.

Holden covered his eyes with one hand and let loose a heavy sigh. Richard recognized that sigh; it was the sigh of a man pressed beneath the weight of the world, with only good intentions left to strengthen him. He let the doctor gather his fortitude before asking, “Have we really run out of our medicines?”

Holden nodded, his arms clasped around himself in a subconscious hug. “Every last pill. Even the baby aspirin is gone.”

Richard let that news hit him, a sickening feeling churning in his gut in a twist of poetic irony. “And…there’s no other way?” he asked, looking around his surroundings almost desperately. In that moment, his mind went back to a certain case he had shortly after coming to the island. A woman had been a keen student of natural, herbal remedies of the island and had used this knowledge to create a vial of homemade cyanide. Richard had read her journal in his research for the case, and now wished he could remember some of what it said. “A root or something?”

“I’m a doctor, Richard, not an alchemist,” Holden replied, a certain level of amusement in his voice despite himself. “But no, even if this island did grow some sort of natural remedy, I wouldn’t know the first place to look for it, nor do I have any means of educating myself on the topic.”

Again, the doctor sighed and a few seconds of silence passed by as both men allowed themselves a brief moment of fully indulged worry. “I did mention to Ronnie though, about the medicine,” Dr. Holden said after a while. “Asked him to keep an eye out for some on their excursion to Honoré today.”

“And they’re not back yet?” Richard asked, his inner anxiety switching from one bad topic to the next. He turned and looked out towards the decline of the jungle floor, the direction in which the other team had set off that morning. 

Holden looked over at his friend and recognized the worry in Richard’s eyes. “Don’t freak out,” he said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone. “They still have a good four hours until they start to lose daylight. They’ll be home by then.”

Richard nodded, trying to adopt that optimistic attitude, and failing somewhat. “Let’s just hope they don’t bring back any work for you,” he said, referring to the last time when Holden had to rip up four shirts to use as bandages just to stop the bleeding. The woman’s name was June, and Holden very much doubted that she would ever reclaim the full use of her hand, or the full range of motion in her arm.

“Actually, I was wondering if _you_ hadn’t brought me back any.”

“Hmm?” Richard asked, confused.

“You’re limping,” the astute doctor observed. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.”

Richard glanced down at his leg and sighed dismissively, a bit chastened. But Holden was already kneeling to start rolling up the leg of Richard’s trousers. The fabric stuck around the detective’s knee and Holden couldn’t get it to rise any further.

“Alright then, off they come.”

“Excuse me?”

“The trousers, take them off.”

“Doctor!” Richard exclaimed, sounding for all the world like a scandalized lady of the house in Victorian England.

Holden stared up at the other man and chuckled at his alarm. “Well I can’t see the injury, can I? So come on then. Trevor’s the only one out here and he’s very well near passing out anyway,” the doctor joked. “I don’t think he’ll notice.”

Richard looked up at the boy and true to the doctor’s word, he showed zero interest in lifting his head for any reason. Still, it seemed indecent to just drop his trousers out in the wide open like this. Begrudgingly, Richard dropped his hands to his waistline and peered around surreptitiously. Then, he nodded in the direction of a largish bush and shimmied over to it.

Holden stood up and followed the detective, not even trying to hide the amusement from his face. “Now this is just making it feel even more risqué, honestly,” he teased.

But Richard just shushed him and continued to beckon the doctor over. “Do you want to see it, or not?”

Holden got a few more chuckles out and then stepped behind the bush. After just a moment more of hesitation, Richard undid the button and zipper on his trousers and let the doctor gingerly pull them over the wound. He was grateful when the physician seemed to curtail his teasing and switch into business mode upon seeing the knee.

“Now that’s got a good swell to it, hasn’t it? What’d you do?” Holden asked, looking up at his patient.

“Took a bad step at the plantation. Nearly went through the floor, but, it jammed on something before it pierced through.”

“And you walked back on it like this?”

Richard just hummed a little noise that meant “yes,” and the doctor gave him a disciplinary look in response.

Holden peered at the injured leg thoughtfully. “Well the cuts I’m not too worried about. None of them are very deep, but we’ll clean them up anyway.” He carefully reached for the knee and gingerly pressed his fingers around the back of the joint. Richard winced, but didn’t make a sound. “Tender there?” the doctor asked, and Richard just nodded.

“It feels like it’s out of joint,” Richard admitted with a little grimace.

“Well it’s not that, based on the mobility. It’d be pretty well locked if it was dislocated, and you wouldn’t have been able to make the whole journey down from the plantation on it. But…” He felt around the joint of the knee a little more, noticing how Richard tended to retreat away from his touch around the lateral side of his knee.

“You might have torn your meniscus a bit, and that’s why it feels like it needs to pop. Luckily, this kind of pain usually subsides in a few days.”

“So there’s nothing to be done for it now?” Richard asked, slightly disappointed.

“Tell you what, let’s have you go back up to your mat and have a good lie-down. You’ve been on your feet now for too long and that’s just making the swelling even worse. Go lie down and try to prop it up. See if we can’t get the swelling to go down a bit and I’ll be by in a little while to reduce it.”

“Reduce?”

“Pop it for you.”

Richard tried not to shudder at the thought of that. He had been accused (mostly by Camille) of being a baby when it came to following doctors’ orders, and considering the fact that he already felt somewhat emasculated standing in the middle of the jungle in his underpants, he was in no hurry to hear that criticism be voiced again now. So after pulling up his trousers, he just thanked the doctor for his help and slowly limped his way back up the hill to the mouth of the cave. Passing Trevor, he bent to pick up the jug of water and dropped a fatherly pat to the boy’s shoulder.

“I’ll be alright, sir. Thank you, sir,” came Trevor’s muffled words.

Richard squeezed the boy’s shoulder in encouragement and said, “good man,” before continuing into the cave.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the diminished light, but when he had, he walked over to where Fidel and the rest of his crew were untying and unpacking all of their bundles. “How are things?” he asked, resting his hands on his hips and peering down at the busy work.

Fidel straightened up and mirrored his boss’ stance as he answered, “Pretty good, sir. We’re just unloading the bundles now, and we’re about to start categorizing and taking a full inventory of what we have so far. So when Ronnie’s team gets back, we should already have a system they can add to.”

“Very good, Sergeant,” Richard said, clapping the other man on the back. “Carry on then.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fidel replied with a self-satisfied grin. Then, more circumspect, he added, “How is your leg?”

“Just fine, Camille,” Richard said, already beginning to walk away. Then he halted, his breath catching in a tiny gasp. It was the first time he had said her name in months, and he hadn’t even meant to say it. But as soon as his ears heard the familiar name, his heart started to ache again. “Fidel, I mean…obviously, I meant, ‘Fidel,’” he amended, a little weakly.

“It’s okay, sir,” Fidel answered softly. “I knew what you meant.”

Richard cast a chagrined glance over at the police sergeant anyway, and then just turned and walked over to his little mat.

“Who’s Camille?” Haley Matheson asked from her place on the ground, trying to untie one of her own knots.

Fidel looked at her and noticed how several other members of the team were all watching as the detective walked away. “A colleague of ours,” Fidel answered at last. “Someone who means a good deal to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Richard's little slip of the tongue at the end of this chapter was actually MY mistake. I had gotten so used to typing "Camille" that it just kind of spilled out of my fingers by accident, and I thought, "Well, that's Freudian," so I kept it in. Led to a really nice moment at the start of next chapter as well, so stay tuned for that.
> 
> For those of you who aren't familiar, the Beaumonts and their plantation are canon to the Death in Paradise novels by Robert Thorogood and they appear in the novel Death Knocks Twice. My story takes place after that book and vaguely references its events, but I try to do it in a way that doesn't spoil anything. For example, I write about a character called "Mr. Beaumont," but by my reckoning, there are at least 3 characters in Death Knocks Twice who could reasonably be referred to as "Mr. Beaumont" (an argument could be made for 4). By not specifying which of them he is, I hope that I preserved the plot revelations of DKT well enough that you wouldn't be spoiled if you haven't read it yet.


	3. Though I walk through the valley

Chapter Three: Though I walk through the valley

Richard had been so distracted as he returned to his mat that he had forgotten to find something to elevate his leg. Instead, he just laid down, flat on his back, and stared up at the jagged cave ceiling.

Camille.

His mouth had felt good saying the name, even though his ears were wishing that he hadn’t heard it, because hearing the name instantly evoked thoughts, and thoughts were painful things. But any objections he would have had to hearing the name were irrelevant anyway; the cycle had been begun, and there was no stopping it now. His eyes drifted closed and he imagined her face in his mind, remembered the sound of her voice, remembered the twinkle of amusement that would flash through her eyes when she laughed at him. He also remembered the fire that would ignite in her gaze when he thoroughly infuriated her. The more he thought of her, the more he wanted her back, and the more something in his chest would constrict.

But as much as he could remember, he was even more worried by the things he had forgotten. Case in point: her hands. He couldn’t remember what they looked like. Did she keep her nails long or short? Were those nails ever painted, and if so, what colors? Were they soft? Richard inhaled deeply as he let his imagination investigate that thought. Yes, he was almost certain they were soft. But would they be now? Richard could account for how quickly a pair of pristine hands could get dirty and callused after living in the jungle for a few weeks. But who’s to say Camille was living in the jungle? In fact…

Richard’s eyes opened and he gulped painfully. That was the real rub, wasn’t it? He couldn’t even be certain that Camille was still alive at all. And that was the sole thought that Richard battled every day to keep from entering his mind. He couldn’t stand the thought that she might no longer exist in this world. In his world. He could try to keep her alive through his memory and his actions, but that wasn’t enough. He needed her to still be around, even if she was off with a little group of survivors of her own. Richard smirked subtly at the thought. Camille would be good at that. In fact, she’d probably be succeeding at it quite a lot better than he was.

Richard used Camille sort of like a personal compass these last few months. His position within their little society was an election he somehow won without campaigning, and it required both empathy and selflessness, traits that did not belong to him normally but which he had seen Camille demonstrate countless times before. Richard had intentionally tried to adapt his personality to better reflect hers because it was all he knew to do. He could afford to be pedantic, self-obsessed, finicky, and bull-headed as long as the world still spun on its axis and life was normal. But amidst the disaster and hopelessness of their current situation, Richard rapidly realized that he would have to change. He wasn’t solving crimes anymore, he was handling the very delicate hopes of a people, and learning the fragility of the human spirit. So long as no one started murdering each other, these people didn’t need a Richard Poole; they needed a Camille Bordey.

“I thought I told you to elevate this,” Holden said, appearing from nowhere and crouching down by Richard’s mat.

The doctor had arrived sooner than Richard had expected, which made him wonder how long he had been lying there, thinking of her. He looked down at his leg as Holden began to touch it gently. “Yeah, I um, I just forgot,” Richard answered.

The doctor snorted at the admission, “Glad to know my medical advice is so dearly valued.” He closed his hands around Richard’s knee, not enough pressure to hurt, but enough coverage to feel the current state of the swelling. “That seems to have gone down a bit. Alright, lift at the hip with this one if you’re able,” Holden said, scooting himself into place to grab hold of Richard’s lower leg.

“Ah, hang on,” Richard said, suddenly nervous. He started to prop himself up on his elbows, looking around at all of the several pairs of eyes that were watching him. “Shouldn’t we maybe do this somewhere else?”

“Want to go back to your little bush?” Holden teased, but shook his head. “I don’t want you putting any more weight on it for now. I won’t lie to you though, this is going to hurt.”

Richard nodded nervously at the doctor’s solemn words. He looked around himself for something to bite down on, they way he had seen tough men do in war movies. He eventually found a book mixed in with his minimal belongings. It was a small book, paperback, which had been in his suit pocket when the cryptos first attacked. The cover read _The Valley of Fear_ , ironically enough. Richard stuck the spine between his teeth and did his best to hike his leg as instructed.

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Beecher asked, a look of concern on her face as she stared down at the detective.

“He’s got a leg that wants popping,” Holden answered, sparing Richard the need to remove his book. “I was just about to reduce it.”

“Oh the poor dear,” was the older woman’s response. Without invitation, she walked over to the side of Richard’s head and sat down. “Come here, lad,” she ordered and made Richard reposition to let her cradle his head in her lap.

Richard screwed up his face in a mixture of confusion and alarm at this new arrangement, but Holden looked pleased. “Thank you, nurse,” the doctor said, and Mrs. Beecher let out one of her hearty laughs.

Richard really wished she wouldn’t be laughing now. He really didn’t like the feeling of laughter right now.

“Ready?” Holden asked, putting his hands in position.

 _Not exactly,_ was the thought that went through Richard’s mind, but Holden went on anyway. The doctor yanked the bottom half of Richard’s leg forward, causing the joint to shift with a dull snap. Richard clenched down onto the spine of the book with his teeth and his head arched back into Mrs. Beecher’s lap. He cried out from around the book as Mrs. Beecher spoke soothing words to him and stroked her hand over his forehead. Eventually, he came down from the pain and could make out what the woman was saying.

“Such a strong boy. You did so well. Now shhh, just relax.”

He felt someone take the book from his mouth, and then he heard another, much smaller voice say. “Is Mr. Poole going to be okay?”

“Yes, Charlotte dear,” Holden replied to the little girl. “Mr. Poole just had a bit of a sore leg. But it’s better now.”

Richard cracked one eye open and looked over at the little girl. “I’m fine, darling,” he said, trying to stretch out his leg to test it. He felt Holden’s hand come to the bottom of his ankle to help support him.

“Good?” the doctor asked, helping his patient test the limits of his joint and gingerly move it into different positions.

Richard nodded. “Yeah, good.”

“Sir?”

Richard and Holden both turned towards the voice at the same time, not really knowing who was being called. Juliette Best, who was serving as the lookout, called over to the both of them. “It’s Ronnie’s group. I see them coming back.”

Richard moved to sit up but the doctor held up a finger at him haltingly and said, “Uh-uh.” Then looking at Mrs. Beecher, he ordered, “Hold him.”

The old woman held Richard down by the shoulders, even as he protested this kind of unlawful arrest.

“I’ll deal with it, Richard. Lie down and rest that leg,” Dr. Holden said before heading over to the mouth of the cave and then disappearing frustratingly from view. Several others all left the cave at the same time to help, and Richard was left waiting, straining his ears for any sign of what was going on outside.

“No shouting, no guns,” Mrs. Beecher commentated, running her fingers through Richard’s hair absentmindedly. “No sound of any kind actually. Well, that’s got to be a good sign, hasn’t it?”

Just then, someone ran back into the cave, directly over to Dr. Holden’s little medical station and retrieved two fistfuls of bandages before running back outside.

Richard sat up after that, heaving himself out of the old woman’s grasp easily enough.

“Inspector, no!” Mrs. Beecher said, but Richard just kept moving.

“Booker Holden is not my nanny!” he bellowed over his shoulder, hobbling towards the mouth of the cave.

Seeing that Richard was obviously determined to see what was going on, Juliette left her post as lookout to come to his aid. She draped the inspector’s arm over her shoulder and helped him to the front of the cave.

Richard stepped into daylight and peered down at the scene below him. It was a confusing sight at first, members of Ronnie’s team were handing off items to the rest of the members of the camp to carry back up to the cave, but Ronnie and Fidel both stood by Dwayne, who had his shirt off and was gritting his teeth as Dr. Holden treated something on his back.

As soon as Richard saw that Dwayne was the only injured party, he started to set off down the hill, but Juliette held onto him and wouldn’t let him move. “I don’t think so, Inspector. We try to take that slope, and we’ll be like Jack and Jill tumbling down these rocks.”

Richard had to admit that she was probably right, so he stayed put and just watched from a distance. Luckily, no one seemed in that much of a panic, so he was hoping that the wound was only a minor one. And as he visually scanned over each member of Ronnie’s team, he confirmed that they had all come home safely and seemed to be in good health. Finally, Richard allowed himself to release the sigh he had anxiously been holding in for the past 24 hours. After a short while, everyone started lugging the resources from Honoré up the slope and into the cave. Just a little longer after that, Dwayne and his caretakers also walked up the hill to rejoin the others.

“Everything alright?” Richard asked once they were in ear shot.

Dwayne nodded, “Just scratched my back up, chief, climbing under a table with a sharp latch. Nothing too serious.”

Richard cast a questioning glance back at Dr. Holden, who nodded to confirm the story. “Well, glad you’re alright,” Richard said, shaking the man’s hand. “I take it then, you didn’t encounter the cryptos?”

“Oh we encountered one alright,” Ronnie said, depositing his rifle and Dwayne’s handgun on the ledge by the opening of the cave alongside the others. Automatically, he started a safety check of each weapon, unloading them and engaging the safety locks. “But it was only one and we were able to just stay hidden, avoided the confrontation.”

“Smart,” Richard commended.

“We should have fired on the bugger,” Dwayne replied, a bit bitterly.

“But Ronnie said you didn’t know how many else were around. Avoiding an attack seems like the smartest thing to do,” Fidel added, coming to stand next to his wife, who was still helping to support some of Richard’s weight.

Dwayne shrugged, his gaze dark. “I just hated the sight of them, all crawlin’ around our city, like they owned the place.”

Everyone solemnly nodded at that. Dwayne was right; they all mourned the loss of their beautiful home. Even Richard, who made no attempts to hide his complaints about the eternal heat and his general disdain for life in the tropics, wished he could return to the way things had been.

“But the important thing is,” Ronnie began, “No one got hurt…badly.” He added this last part with a nod in Dwayne’s direction.

“And? Were you successful?” Richard asked, shifting his weight a little to try not to lean on Juliette too heavily.

“I think so. We got into the primary school and they had lots of banners and signs decorating the gym and classrooms. I think we can use a lot of it. And we found some more ammunition as well in the security office. We could have found more too if we had ventured a little farther into the city, but we were running low on daylight. We brought back what we could.”

“What about the medicine? Was there a nurse’s station at the school?” Holden asked hopefully.

“Ah,” Ronnie said, thankful to have been reminded. He lifted a satchel from his shoulder and handed it to the doctor. Holden peered inside and took quick stock of his new equipment. He looked up at the other man with a look of gratitude on his face. Without another word he just squeezed Ronnie once on the arm and then walked off to add these items to his medical station.

The others in the group took that as a sign that the conversation had officially ended and all split off in different directions. “Tell you what,” Richard began, removing his arm from around Juliette’s shoulders and gingerly lowering himself down onto the little ledge where she had previously sat. “I’ll take a shift as lookout, Juliette. You go be with your husband.”

“You sure?” she asked politely, though she already moved in said direction.

Richard just closed his eyes and nodded as an answer. As Juliette went with Fidel to help with the sorting of the new resources, it left only Richard and Ronnie remaining by the cave entrance. Ronnie released the empty chamber of the last handgun and it slid shut with a satisfying _schinkt._ When he was finished he turned to Richard, who was staring at him like there was something he wanted to talk about.

“You could have gotten more?” Richard asked, except it wasn’t a question.

Ronnie dropped his hands to his hips and sighed. “Yeah…a lot more,” he answered with a slow nod of his head. “It was a big school. With just five men, we used most of our time just searching through it. And even what we found, we couldn’t carry everything. There was a whole pantry still stocked with food and we had to just leave most of it because our bags were full.”

Richard sighed too and looked down at the ground. He nodded begrudgingly, understanding what Ronnie was implying. “You want to go back.”

“Damn right I do. And I want to take more men. We couldn’t even carry to our max because we had to leave our hands free for our weapons. Weapons that we never even fired.”

“Which was wholly ideal and not at all a guarantee,” Richard added emphatically.

“But my point is,” Ronnie continued in a hushed voice, crouching beside Richard to get on his eye-level. “If we take twice as many people…” Richard immediately started to object, but Ronnie spoke over him. “ _Twice as many next time_ , and we take all five of our guns, half of the group can provide protection while the other half load as much as they can carry. Then we would still have the bags and satchels that can be carried by the gunmen. Richard, we could come back with enough food and supplies to last us for weeks.”

Richard held an intensity in his face but a levelness in his voice as he looked at Ronnie from the corner of his eye and said slowly, “You are talking about a _third_ of our ranks, Ronnie. Ten people! Put in jeopardy. And what happens when just one of those weapons jams? Or the creatures fall in too quickly and people can’t get their shots off in time? Or what if one of the unarmed members of the team encounters a crypto and no one with a gun is around to protect them?”

The other man sighed and looked away in frustration.

“Ronnie, I understand that you’ve just seen a land flowing with milk and honey, but we can’t let that make us reckless.”

“Calculated risk-” Ronnie began, but Richard cut him off.

“What part of five people without a means of protecting themselves seems calculated to you?”

“Then we minimize the risk. Entrust the guns only to those who have the training and experience to handle a firefight. People who won’t hesitate to get their shots off in time. Unlike what I had today.”

Richard tipped his head to the side, not quite seeing the point his compatriot was trying to make.

Ronnie elaborated. “I thought it a little strange that, in a group with three trained police officers, I only had one come with me on a dangerous mission. Or don’t you think I noticed you go and convince Fidel not to join my team.”

Richard blinked at the accusation, a little stunned by it, yet also having the good graces to look properly guilty.

“So the next time we send people into a hostile environment, maybe don’t send two of our trained professionals up to pick coffee berries!”

“There a problem over here, gents?” Dr. Holden asked pointedly, approaching the heated exchange with his hands up in a way that said ‘quiet down, you idiots.’ Richard looked past the doctor and noticed how no one in the cave behind him was looking their direction. In fact, everyone was very obviously looking in any other direction. Though heated, Richard and Ronnie had kept their argument in whispered tones, but he was still certain it must not have looked good. He and Ronnie exchanged a regretful look and then turned to face the twilit outdoors.

“Just a disagreement,” Ronnie said, much more calmly this time.

“Uh, yeah, gathered that much,” Holden replied, taking a seat on the ground next to the two of them.

“Ronnie thinks his team wasn’t as successful as it could have been today. He proposes taking another team, a larger team, out to make another go of it,” Richard said, in an equally calm tone.

“And you’re not in favor of this because you think we dodged a bullet today, and that next time, we won’t be so lucky.” The doctor had pretty much hit the nail on the head with that assessment.

A silence stretched out between the three men while they all contemplated what their next step should be. It was Holden who finally spoke, “I say, we forget about it for tonight. They’re almost through with the sorting. Tomorrow we will be able to check our full inventory and see if we have enough to make Ronnie’s flag. If we start to piece the thing together and realize that we don’t have enough materials, then we can revisit the idea of going out again. And Richard, you’re going to have to face the fact that we won’t be able to sustain life for this many people on this mountain forever. Eventually, we will have to send more groups down to the city. And the more we go, the better we’ll get at it. But for now, today was a victory. Let’s not lose sight of that.”

Ronnie and Richard both felt like properly reprimanded teenagers as they turned to look at each other apologetically. They reached out and shared a handshake. “I’m sorry Ronnie. Holden is right, we should be treating this as a success.”

“And I’m sorry for implying that what you did wasn’t important. I appreciate the work you and your team did up at the plantation.”

“I should say,” Holden added, his tone instantly brightening the conversation. “After all, the inspector is the only one who came back with a real battle wound.”

Here, Ronnie turned his attention to his friend’s leg. “Yeah, I’d been noticing that. What’d you do?”

“He fell through a floor.”

Ronnie pinched his lips together tightly, trying to keep from smiling. “Bit ironic, no?”

“O-kay!” Richard said, annoyed, shaking his head while the other two men just laughed, Ronnie slapping him on the back in good nature.

“Oh! And I forgot to tell you the best part,” Holden said, standing up and helping Ronnie to rise as well. “While you lads were off on your heroics, Owen and I went out and checked on the traps. And we caught a bird!”

“We what?” Richard asked, baffled.

“Yeah!” Holden gave an almost cartoonish shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t ask me how! But it’s poultry on the menu tonight, gents!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Valley of Fear" is a Sherlock Holmes novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It seemed like the kind of pocket book Richard might have had on him.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I cannot overstate how much I love hearing from you guys. Next chapter will be up soon! Stay tuned!


	4. Fabric of a man

Chapter Four: Fabric of a man

The next day, several things improved. For one, Richard’s leg felt almost back to normal, and he could walk on it without assistance and with minimal soreness. He also sat with Ronnie during their breakfast, and with a chewing nod and a mutual pat on the other man’s shoulder, Richard felt they had finally resolved the conflict from the night before. Even though a final decision about whether or not another round of people would be sent back to Honoré still had yet to be established, Richard regretted the way that conversation went down, and at least now, he felt the personal animosity had been assuaged. Another, more unexpected improvement came when they were surveying all of the combined resources from the plantation and the Honoré elementary school and Haley Matheson came forward with a brilliant way of multiplying their materials.

“See?” she asked, crouching down to grasp some of the material in her hands. “These aren’t curtains; they’re drapes.”

Richard risked a side-eye to several others in the group, wondering if they were as lost by this revelation as he was. They seemed to be.

Luckily for them all, Haley wasn’t finished explaining. She turned over the fabric to show its back. “That means they’re lined with an extra layer of fabric on the backs to help block the sunlight when they’re drawn. If we cut along the seams here, we’ll be able to get an extra sheet of fabric, doubling our yardage for each of these drapes.”

Haley proved to be a wealth of knowledge once fabrication of the X began. Because their sewing materials were the scarcest, she showed the group how to cut strategic slits and corresponding flaps in the fabric that could be used as anchors to weave one item to the next. This minimized the amount of actual sewing required to fix each piece to the next, while still maintaining the integrity of each joint. It took everyone a while to understand the tying methods she was demonstrating, but after a while, they eventually got the hang of it and started to make decent progress on the project.

Richard enjoyed this kind of work. It felt good for his hands to focus on a task that required fine motor skills rather than the broad swings of a machete or the lifting and setting down of heavy loads. It reminded him of when he used to conduct forensic experiments in his little shack or at the office, delicate work that required careful precision. Once he understood the pattern of cutting, weaving, and then tying that Haley had demonstrated, Richard settled into an easy rhythm.

And he wasn’t the only one. As people started to have more familiarity with the pattern, they were able to stop focusing on it so painstakingly, and previously tense shoulders were able to slope a little more. It was probably about 45 minutes into the project that levels of proficiency began to rise and quiet conversations began to start up. When Richard was certain that he and the others had been working on the project for several hours, he was happy to look up and notice many easy and even jovial conversations bubbling all around him. For a moment at least, life felt almost normal: neighbors chatting about trivial things while at a summer picnic. Everyone at one point felt the urge to liken this event to simpler days spent in “arts and craft time” at school. That inspired several funny (and sometimes horrifying, in hindsight) anecdotes to be shared by certain members of the group, and Richard found himself, on more than one occasion, chuckling at these ludicrous antics his compatriots seemed to engage in as youngsters. 

“What about you, Inspector?” somebody asked, no doubt because, though he had enjoyed listening to the conversation forming around him, Richard hadn’t felt inclined to speak a single word through any of it.

“Hmm?” was the best he could manage now.

“What sort of trouble did you get into as a child? I’m sure it’d have to be something…”

Richard raised his eyebrows expectantly and waited for the other man to find the right word.

“…truly devious,” the man finally said with a cheeky grin. Then, he asked to the open circle, “Don’t you think?” The question was met with smiling and hearty agreement from pretty much everyone, and Richard smirked at them all. Apparently, everyone was equally amused by the thought of a tiny Richard being the terror of Cheshire.

“Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse…” a young voice came from behind Richard. He looked over his shoulder just in time to catch the blur of young Trevor, running out the mouth of the cave, one hand clutching his stomach and the other coming up to cover his mouth.

Immediately, Richard turned and met gazes with a knowing Dr. Holden. The two of them exchanged a look of shared concern and thin worry before Holden stood from the circle and quietly excused himself to follow the young man.

“Well Inspector?” an adolescent girl prompted after a moment.

Richard’s gaze lingered on the exit of the cave for a beat longer, worrying after the doctor and his very miserable patient. He turned back to the group after a moment and echoed his earlier response. “Hmm?”

The young girl smiled, showing crooked teeth, and said, “Tell us about _your_ childhood.”

“I didn’t have a childhood,” Richard said matter-o-factly, resuming his tying. He glanced back over at the girl slyly and added, “I was born an ugly old man. Just like this.”

The several children in the circle all giggled at that, and even a few of the grownups snorted good-naturedly, but most of them eyed him, knowing that he was skirting the question.

“No you weren’t!” Lukas, one of Ronnie’s boys, exclaimed. “Your mommy’s tummy would’ve exploded!”

Richard’s facade broke at that and he had to laugh. Everyone else laughed too, accompanied with a few comments like, “He got you there!” Richard nodded and pointed at the boy. “And _that_ is a use of very sound logic. Quite right, too; I was just telling a fib.”

“Which only lends credence to my theory,” the first man added.

“No, actually-” Richard began, but was cut off.

“Inspector?”

Richard looked up to find Owen hovering over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Could I borrow you a moment?”

Richard started to move the sheets off of his lap so he could stand up, but the rest of the crowd started to protest. “Wait a minute, he still hasn’t answered yet!” they said.

But Richard relished in his escape. “Sorry, duty calls. I have, very important things to do, as you can see.” Offering no time for rebuttal, Richard scampered away, patting Owen on the back in gratitude. “What is it?”

“Well, we were just gearing up to take a bath and laundry team to the springs,” Owen answered, not totally understanding what he had just interrupted, or why the inspector seemed to be so amused by it.

“Ah, yes. And you’ll be needing a gun for the group,” Richard finished, already setting off in that direction. There were several people in the total group of survivors who had what Richard would call “workable knowledge” of firearms, but there were only three of them who had professional knowledge of them: Namely, Richard and his two officers. Because of this, Richard, Fidel, or Dwayne always had to personally inspect and load every weapon that was to be sent out with a team. It was one of the hard rules Richard had instated when their little society was first established. Originally, he didn’t want anyone other than trained professionals handling the guns at all, but after a few days spent with multiple teams having to head out in different directions and for different tasks, that dream quickly proved impractical. Eventually, Richard settled for awarding “weapons bearing status” to a few civilian members of the group after subjecting them all to a safety lesson and demonstration. The fact that some of them already had hunting or recreational firing range experience was very helpful.

“Well yes, sir.” Owen said, following the detective over to the cache of weapons. “But also, you’re on it.”

“I’m what?”

“The rotation? It’s your turn to go up to the pools for a wash. You and four others,” Owen replied, bowing his head a little bit in embarrassment, obviously understanding how purely ridiculous it was to be telling a grown man that it was time for his bath.

Still, Richard swallowed the embarrassment rather well, considering he was…well…himself. Overall, this seemed like good news. Before the cryptos surfaced, if there were two things on which Richard Poole never wavered, it was his sartorial standards and personal hygiene. Now, Richard couldn’t think back to the last time he had bathed. If he had to take a guess, he would think it must be close to 20 days, maybe a little more. And he hated it. He hated smelling himself every day and walking around in his own special concoction of sweat, dirt, dead skin, and microbes. Because water was so scarce, the last thing anyone would want to do was splash around in it or pour it over one’s head. So their only option to clean themselves was when a small team could head up closer to the peak of the mountain, where several, natural, hot springs were located. It wasn’t entirely ideal. With the high temperatures that plagued the island, slipping into a hot bath was not altogether enjoyable. But washing certainly was, regardless of the temperature.

“Oh, cracking,” Richard said in reply. Lifting one of the handguns and pulling the top back to check the chamber. He inspected the weapon and wished, not for the first time, that they had a proper cleaning kit. But he secured and loaded the weapon, handing it to Owen with the safety still engaged. “You can pop out with that, please, now that it’s loaded, and I’ll just be a minute.”

Owen nodded and headed outside while Richard made his way back over to his little bed. To call it a bed was probably generous. Like everyone else here, he had constructed his sleeping place out of anything remotely comfortable and squishy he could find. He had a few man-made items, including his old suit, a top and bottom blanket, his leather briefcase, and a seat cushion which used to preside in the police jeep but which now served as his pillow. Most of his “mattress,” however, consisted mainly of Spanish moss which he covered with his bottom blanket to keep it from irritating his skin all night. He folded the edges of his blanket under itself to try to create a wall of sorts to keep the moss from spreading out too much after he put his weight on it, but it was the sort of thing that needed adjustment most every night.

Right now though, he hadn’t come to adjust his little mat, he had come to collect his other outfit. Things as they were, he was limited to two: The shirt and cargos which he currently wore, and the suit jacket and trousers which he had been wearing the day they evacuated into the hills. If he was hoping to wash his daily clothes up at the springs today, he would need something else to wear while they dried. He pulled back his top and bottom blankets to uncover the upper half of his pallet. This was the half which he felt needed to be the most fortified and so he had bundled his meager fabrics to place as support for the arch of his back. He pulled out the suit and unrolled it, letting his thumbs pass over the material almost fondly.

The suit was utterly ruined, which would be a surprise to no one. The heavy fabric had adopted hundreds of wrinkles and creases and the whole thing reeked of moss. But even still, the simple tactile reminiscence under his fingertips was like running into an old friend, a moment somehow fraught with sameness and change all at once. As he thumbed the fabric, Richard wondered who had changed more, the man who used to wear the suit, or the suit that used to embody the man.

Before the cryptos surfaced, Richard had worn a suit to work every day not because he enjoyed it, but because his professional station called for it, at least by his reckoning. His job came with a badge, one that stayed mostly in his pocket and hardly ever needed to be used. His real badge, the one he wore blatantly every day, which marked his identity in more ways than one, was the white checkered shirt, gray jacket, matching trousers, leather belt, tall black socks, and black leather brogues. He knew, in the middle of the tropics, he stuck out like a sore thumb in this attire, but he meant to. He was a British police officer, after all; and the way he saw it, a fish was a fish whether it was in the water or not. Why pretend to be anything other than what he was?

It was a recurring conversation where Camille or Dwayne or Fidel (but more often than not, all three) would try to talk him into trying a different outfit, something lighter that breathed a little better, could take a little bit of the intensity out of the Caribbean heat. But the truth was that he would be uncomfortably hot in this climate no matter what he wore, and his suits, though thick and warm, provided a different sort of comfort that his colleagues apparently couldn’t understand. He was Richard Poole when he wore them. Without them, he would be something less.

Fast forward a little bit, past the end of the world, and here he was, crouched over his old suit like a snake returning to its old skin, trying to remember what it felt like to be that Richard. If pushed on the matter, he would say that he still felt like himself, just…a different kind of himself. And as he tried to take account of all of the differences, he wondered if they were all positive. He hoped they were, but he suspected some of them were not.

Rolling his suit back into a little bundle, Richard tucked it under his arm and then made his bed again. Standing to leave the cave, he stopped by Ronnie and told him where he was going, leaving the fabrication of the X to him. He also reminded him to make sure that the group took enough breaks, especially for food and water. Then, after shaking the other man’s hand, Richard headed out to join the rest of the bathing team outside the front of the cave.

Dr. Holden and Trevor were back on their little log, with Trevor’s head between his legs and the doctor looking very forlorn indeed. With a heavy sigh, Holden looked up and noticed Richard. The inspector asked a question with his look and the doctor sadly shook his head. The medicine wasn’t helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Part of the reason I wanted to write this story was because I was entertained by the thought exercise of what life would be like in a survival situation like this. I realize chapters that revolve around how baths and weapons privileges work might seem kind of boring to some of you, but I find these moments really interesting. Thank you for indulging me in them. Also, I feel like Richard gets some worthwhile character exploration in this, so that helps to even out some of the more tedious details. 
> 
> I really hope you are enjoying this story. Things get REALLY interesting in the next few chapters, so I encourage you to keep reading. You won't want to miss what's coming up. I'll see you there!


	5. X marks the spot

Chapter Five: X marks the spot

When Richard returned with the rest of the bathing team, he was surprised and pleased to find that the X was making good progress. With almost the entire group working on it all at once, they were moving more quickly than Richard had even expected.

Two days later, they had the two portions of the X totally complete and they were ready to lug it up to the clearing and finally install it. The whole group of survivors was abuzz with excitement over this development. No one named names, for fear of jinxing it, but there was one clear thought on everyone’s mind: that their old friends and loved ones down in the city of Honoré might see their beacon and be able to join them here in the safety of their meager compound. The mere possibility of what this X represented charged their little society with an electricity it hadn’t known in ages. Richard too felt hope begin to bubble inside of him, despite himself. The logical part of him knew that it was a long shot, but even his analytical mind couldn’t stop the racing rhythm in his chest that started every time he thought about it. It evoked that one, dangerous word, the one that he hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of enjoying for the past two months: _maybe._

The installation of the X was spread out over two days. The first day was just spent preparing the installation site, climbing the trees and using the machete to remove key branches in order to maximize visibility. They also chopped strategic notches into the wood that would serve as the anchors for the corner ropes that would support the weight of the X. The following day, early in the morning Richard and Ronnie took an installation team to actually apply the X. The situation proved more complicated than they had realized, and they had to abandon the idea of using the notches as anchors for the X, having to cut different grooves further up the way. After many hours full of sweat, splinters, and scrapes, the team stood back, hands on hips, and took in the sight of what they had created.

Days passed and Ronnie scheduled regular scouting teams to head up to the X on days that the water teams wouldn’t pass it on their way up to the plantation. In that way, they kept careful vigil over their beacon and made sure that it was still standing every day. After one heavy rain storm, they climbed the mountain to the X and were unsurprised to see a portion of the banner had torn and fallen during the night. They spent a good portion of that morning making on-site repairs and re-erecting the X back to its former glory.

After testing the new hold and deeming it stable enough, the team finally gathered up what remained of their supplies and headed back down the mountain.

Richard was bringing up the rear when he saw Ronnie slow his pace so that Richard would catch up to him.

“We need to talk,” Ronnie said.

“What about?”

“The doctor. Something’s gotten into him lately. He snapped at someone this morning because they forgot to reload the traps with bait.”

Richard hummed in thought, looking down at the jungle floor to watch his step.

“Do you know what that’s about?” Ronnie asked.

“I have a hunch.” Richard looked up to see the other man pass him a “go on” expression. “The young man, Trevor. He’s been sick now for over a week. Holden won’t say so explicitly, but I think he’s getting worse.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Richard shrugged. “That’d be a question for the good doctor. I assumed it was just the flu originally, but now I don’t know. Based on the way Holden is tied up in knots over it, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that it’s something more serious. And he’s frustrated by his lack of supplies. Feels he can’t actually do any good without the proper equipment and medication, for which I can’t really blame him.”

The pair grew quiet after that, until Ronnie finally stated, “We need to talk with Holden. Get him to tell us what exactly is going on.”

“Agreed.”

“If the boy needs medicine, we need to find a way of getting it for him.”

“Agreed,” Richard answered just as readily, which appeared to surprise Ronnie who was apparently expecting greater pushback. But he would be wrong. Richard had been watching this particular problem advance steadily for some time, and his concern over it had been mounting alongside Holden’s. He had a feeling the time for drastic measures was fast approaching, and if that was the case, then they wouldn’t have the luxury of avoiding a return to crypto territory anymore.

An hour later, as the team approached the camp, they increased their pace when they heard raised voices echoing from the cave. Richard and the others burst into the cave to see two men, Rudy Kent and Edward Fry, engaged in some sort of indistinguishable screaming match. There was also a child who was crying, being comforted by a worried-looking Mrs. Beecher, and several other people were gathered around the men, throwing in their two cents about the conflict but without fully engaging. In a flash of movement, Edward finally threw the first punch and the wife of Mr. Kent let out a scream. In an instant, Fidel and Dwayne descended upon the pair and struggled to pull them apart.

“Gentlemen!” Richard’s voice boomed through the acoustics of the cave like a cannon, causing all other activity to come to a screeching halt. The two men in question shut their mouths and begrudgingly looked over at the inspector. He eyed them both sternly, said, “A word,” and then turned and walked back out of the cave.

Richard was standing halfway down the slope, his arms crossed over his chest and facing away from the mouth of the cave when he heard the pair of footsteps approach and then stop a few feet behind him. He turned and looked at them both, irritation brimming in his expression but barely keeping it from boiling over. He passed a glance back up at the cave and noticed that the lookout was trying very hard not to look their direction.

“Walk with me,” he said, turning to the left and heading into the thick jungle. Richard was silent for several seconds, leading them further into the trees and occasionally bending down to pick up some sticks for firewood. It didn’t take long for the other two men to start copying him and also begin collecting sticks.

“Considering the fact that you are both heads of your households, I am doing you the favor of not berating you in front of those who respect you the most,” Richard said after a while of silence. “Though it bears mentioning that you could both do a little better at carrying that respect in the future. Now, what is it that has you two bickering like a couple of school boys?”

“It was the second time in three days that I’ve seen this one taking an extra bit of food from the pantry,” Edward Fry started.

“It was for my wife!” Kent defended. “She isn’t eating like she should, always giving extras to the kids instead.”

“The rest of us have families too, mate. Why should yours get an extra helping?”

“Alright,” Richard said, a warning tinge in his voice. “Believe it or not, we didn’t come out here just to give your little tiff a change of scenery. Mr. Kent, I understand your desire to feed your family-”

“ _Do_ you?” the other man snapped.

Richard stuttered to a stop at that, blinking at the man in a moment of stunned silence. When he regained his voice, he quietly admitted, “Quite right,” his voice holding more regret than he meant it to. Richard noticed the way Fry lowered his gaze, almost out of pity, and somehow that made it feel worse. “Allow me to rephrase: I can _empathize_ with your desire to provide for your wife and children, but it doesn’t change the fact that our resources are limited, and in addition to yours, we do have an awful lot of mouths to feed. The portion your family is allotted is the portion that is fair, and as hard as it is, I need you to stick to that portion.”

“But Inspector,” Fry began again, finally lifting his eyes back to Richard. “Why are our resources so limited?”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s just that…we’ve all heard about the primary school pantry by now. Word has gotten around that it was stocked to the beams and our team just left it there.”

“They were sticking to the mission. The task at hand was to gather supplies for the X project, and their hands were full. They brought back what they could.”

“But that was ages ago, and we still haven’t been back. Meanwhile, we have families trapped in this cave, scraping by on little more than one meal a day when there are shelves upon shelves of non-perishables just a few miles east from here, just sitting there untouched. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Richard looked back and forth between both men and noticed that, for once, they seemed aligned. It was one thing to hear Ronnie and Holden urging him to send another group down to Honoré, but hearing it from the other members of the group seemed particularly sobering. Slowly, Richard sighed and nodded. “Fair point. I’ll discuss that with the others and we’ll take it under advisement. All attention has been on maintaining the X recently, but you’re right. Perhaps it is time to return our focus to resource gathering.”

The men both nodded, pleased by what they heard.

“But in the meantime, I need you both to set good examples for those under you. I need you to treat each other with a little more respect and consideration, and I need you to make do with your own shares for now. We’ll get more food; you’ll just have to patient in the meantime. And do apologize to each other. With everything on this bloody island intent on killing us, we don’t need to be at each other’s throats, too.”

Kent and Fry both turned to one another and apologized, sealing it with a shake, before all three of them returned to the camp with their meager bundles of firewood. Richard watched as both men went to their families and began apologizing for their behavior. Upon seeing their arrival, Dr. Holden and Ronnie slowly made their way over to Richard, who was knelt, stacking their bundles of firewood neatly with the others.

“So, what was all of that about?” Holden asked.

Richard’s shoulders slumped and he rested his hand on his knee. “Desperation,” he answered. Richard turned to the other two leaders and said, “I think we need to talk.”

* * *

She felt something heavy land on her foot and it yanked her to wakefulness. “Aaoow!” she exclaimed, more out of surprise than actual pain. She looked down to see Cassidy staring up at her from where she sat across her ankles. The little girl had her shoulders hiked up to her ears and a remorseful grimace on her face.

“I’m sowy Ms. Bordey. I twipped,” the child said in her high voice.

“Oh that’s okay, angel,” she replied, cupping the girl by the cheek. “I should get up anyway.”

The sun was already fully in the sky. It was probably close to eight, which meant that it was strange she had slept in this long. Usually, sleeping on the rooftops, it was difficult to sleep past dawn with the sun beating down on you. They had realized early on that, while the beasts were very good at digging, they were not particularly good at climbing. After that discovery was made, they started making a living on the rooftops of Honoré. There were fourteen of them in total on this network of roofs, then further down, separated by some chasms in the city’s grid, there was another little colony of rooftop survivors over on Le Clerc avenue.

She stood to walk over to the edge of the roof to see if their neighbors had a message today. No, their flag was put away.

Behind her, Cassidy laughed and squealed when her daddy appeared from nowhere to start chasing her. He scooped her up with little effort and blew tickling zerberts into the child’s belly. He looked up and noticed the woman for the first time that day, staring off into the distance. “Catherine?” he asked. “Catherine, what is it?”

Catherine Bordey pointed to the mountain range. She turned her head to the father and daughter duo behind her. “Does that look like an X to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and share with me your thoughts on this chapter. Then keep an eye out for the next update because chapter 6 is one of my favorite chapters in the whole story and I'm really excited for you to read it.


	6. How to save a life

Chapter Six: How to save a life

“I think we need to talk,” Richard said, standing from his kneeling position and turning to face the other two.

“I agree,” Holden said, dispirited. “There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you two about.”

Even as they spoke, The Three slowly moved themselves to a secluded corner of the cave and lowered their voices. “Is it Trevor?” Richard asked, sighing at Holden’s subsequent nod.

“Yesterday, he was continuing to be sick and rejecting everything we put in him. So I did a brief examination of his abdomen. He has definite abdominal swelling, which is not good, and I believe I felt something that could have been a mass.”

Richard and Ronnie passed a worried glance at each other. They weren’t doctors, but even they knew what that meant. “Are you sure?” Ronnie finally asked.

“No,” was the doctor’s surprising response. “I can’t be sure without an x-ray or ultrasound, or stool test, or blood work. It might be inflammatory bowel, where his intestine is infected and therefore inflamed and that’s what I felt. It could be a mass, as I said. It could be gallstones. It could be ulcers. It could be appendicitis. It could be cancer. Without the ability to run some diagnostic tests, I can’t know for certain what it is. All I can be sure of now is that he is a 19-year-old male who has reportedly suffered from a weak immune system most of his life, he has had trouble keeping anything down for the last several days, he’s experiencing sharp stomach pains, a fever, nausea, his abdomen is noticeably swollen, and upon examination, my fingers seemed to work out the edges of what felt to be a mass of some sort.”

Again, Richard sighed. He turned his head to look out at the group, trying to process all of that information, and he found himself empathizing with the doctor and his plight. It reminded him of the frustration he first experienced when moving to St. Marie and discovering that they had no forensic or ballistic resources on the island. Like Holden, he knew what it felt like to have a very important job to do, but to be impeded by a lack of access to the right materials and technologies. It was a very hopeless and infuriating feeling, and hearing the echoes of it in Holden’s voice now was like tasting the first bites of a meal you forgot you hated.

As Richard aimlessly scanned the crowed, his mind far afield, he accidentally made eye contact with a little girl, the same one he had seen crying earlier during the Kent-Fry scuffle. She wasn’t crying now, however. In fact, when she noticed Richard looking at her, she grinned brightly and waved at him. A tiny smile tugged up the corners of his mouth and he waved subtly back.

“Is it life-threatening?” Ronnie asked.

Holden shrugged a little, formulating his response. “Under normal circumstances, most of those things I mentioned shouldn’t be life threatening.”

“But these circumstances are far from normal,” Richard noted, looking back at the pair.

Holden nodded. “If these symptoms persist, I’m afraid he’s going to starve to death. This is now his third day of vomiting everything we give him. The only thing his body seems to accept is water, and even that, only in small quantities. But if he keeps rejecting sustenance, he _will_ die from this.”

“So what does he need?” Ronnie asked.

The doctor slightly scoffed at that and answered emphatically, “He needs a hospital! And most probably a surgeon.” Holden huffed in frustration and covered his face with his hands.

“Doctor?” Richard said sympathetically, grasping the other man by the shoulder and just waiting.

After a moment, Holden lifted his head with a strong intake of breath. “If he has a mass, and it can’t be reduced through medication, then it will need to be removed surgically. He’s too weak to be moved, not to mention the fact that the hospital would be almost impossible to reach even for a healthy man, so it would have to be done here.” He paused at this point to look at the other two men and gauge their reaction, but he only found support and patience in their expressions.

“In which case,” the doctor continued haltingly, “I would need…a scalpel, sutures, anesthesia, lots and lots of gauze, clamps, forceps, some means of sterilization...”

Richard cut him off there. “One moment,” he said, walking over to his little mat with great purpose. He grabbed his book and ripped out the last page, the one in printed books that is always left blank. Then he found his old briefcase and retrieved a pencil. Armed with these two things, he returned to Ronnie and Holden and held the items out to the doctor. “Make me a list.”

“You?”

“Yes. In fact, make me two. On the first, I want you to list all of your dream supplies, everything you just mentioned and more. Then, on the second, I want you to try to think of…shall we say ‘creative substitutes,’ in case I can’t find the ideal option.”

“Hold on,” Ronnie began. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Honoré general. Obviously,” Richard answered with a minute shrug.

“Sirs!” Owen called from his position as lookout. The Three turned, and found the unmistakable look of alarm on the man’s face. They were at Owen’s side as quickly as possible, following the point of his finger to look out at the jungle.

At first, Richard didn’t notice anything, but then Owen whispered, “There. The other side of that bush, watch.” Waiting just a few seconds longer, Richard finally saw it. A crypto was hurrying its way through the underbrush, cutting across the forest floor in a diagonal trajectory towards the cave.

After Owen’s initial alert, several people had gathered near the mouth of the cave to try to get a glimpse of what was out there. Now, Richard turned back to the group. “Doctor, get everyone as deep into the cave as possible. Fidel, Dwayne, Lily Shaw, you stay here.”

Holden immediately obeyed and started getting everyone to hasten to the back of the cave. Ronnie was already loading the weapons, but Richard went and grabbed the machete, taking it over to Owen. Richard took Owen’s rifle and replaced it with the machete. “It’s a lot to ask, I know. But you have to be our last line of defense. _Do not_ let anything past,” he said gravely.

Owen, to his credit, kept a steady hand as he took the weapon and just nodded resolutely. Before the surfacing, Richard had regarded Owen as little more than a beach bum. He slept in a hammock beside a little hut where he offered parasailing trips during the tourist season. What Richard didn’t realize about him was that he was also quite technologically savvy and worked as an “app maintenance coder” during the off season. And, as Richard had come to learn during the last three months, he was also a good man with a level head and a great deal of courage.

“Sir, another one,” Fidel stated.

Richard looked back out the mouth of the cave, only vaguely acknowledging as Ronnie came up and traded him a handgun for the rifle. Richard angled the gun towards the ground while his eyes focused on the movement developing outside. Sure enough, there was a second crypto following the same path, but nestling down in the brush a few paces away from its partner. Richard cocked the weapon in his hands while he scanned the remaining landscape. To his surprise, the two creatures came to a halt and crouched down in the underbrush. But there were only two of them. That was peculiar. Cryptos usually hunted in larger packs, five or six.

“Where’re the rest of them?” Fidel asked, reading everyone’s mind.

Richard looked again at the animals, as still as statues and with their backs to the cave, just waiting. “It’s an ambush,” the detective realized. Then again, “They’re setting an ambush. There are people on their way here, likely being chased, and they’re about to run headlong into a trap!” Of course. He had read about parties of lionesses employing this same tactic when hunting as a pack in the savannah. Richard had found it fascinating then, reading it in a book. He found it terrifying now.

“ _People_ headed here?” Lily repeated in wonder, but Richard was already moving on.

“Alright, eyes here,” he said, holding out his hand flat and causing the tiny group of warriors to gather around. Richard began drawing invisible lines on his hand as he laid out the plan. “Here’s the mountain. Ronnie - Fidel - Lily, you three will spread out here, near the base. Ronnie, take the middle. Dwayne, you and I will advance into position further out here. Ronnie takes the first shot with the rifle. Make it a good one. Dwayne and I will open fire on whichever one Ronnie didn’t hit. Fidel and Lily, you have to use your best judgment with the guns you have; fire on whatever is in range. Once we get started, we have to take them both down quickly, before they have a chance to respond.” Richard looked up at the group and was satisfied to see comprehending nods and resolute expressions.

Finally, he concluded his instruction by saying, “Move into position quietly. They don’t know we’re here; let’s maintain that advantage as long as we can. But if they startle,” here he looked at Ronnie.

“I’ll take my shot,” the bigger man finished.

After that, the group all cocked, aimed their weapons at the ground and slowly started filing out of the cave, led by Richard and Dwayne.

The terrain to the immediate exit of the cave was a moderate slope covered in many loose stones. To make their way over the rocks without being heard, everyone had to move very carefully and slowly. Richard bounced his eyes between watching the cryptos and watching his step, breathing steadily through a gaping mouth. Eventually, he made it past the danger zone and could increase his pace a little bit. Then, one of the creatures lifted its head and Richard raised a fist to bring the team’s movements to a halt, but it was too late. The crypto turned its head just enough to catch Richard out of the corner of its eye, snapping its head to face him fully.

_BANG!_

Ronnie’s shot echoed through the mountains and dozens of birds high up in the trees all scattered at the noise. The shot hit its target and sunk deep into the crypto’s back. It cried out in its piercing, gravely, shriek (a sound Richard had heard plenty of times over the last several months, but which he would never grow accustomed to) and the creature stumbled forward, floundering to the side.

The second crypto spun around, facing the cave and the origin of the shot, and then sprung to action, heading straight for its attackers. Richard and Dwayne opened fire, landing a few shots, but with it moving at top speed, the creature rapidly stole itself out of their range. Richard could hear the three gunmen back at the base open fire while he turned his attention back onto the first crypto. It was wounded, but no longer disoriented, and was splitting its attention between Richard and Dwayne.

“Dwayne!” Richard called, reclaiming the man’s focus, and then opened fire on the beast before it could charge. The other officer got the message and joined his boss in tag-teaming the creature to finish the job. After only a few rounds each, the crypto was dead.

Richard was about to turn back to help the rest of the team take out the last one when a flash of movement caught his eye. A woman, clutching a toddler, came running out of the woods.

Richard was stunned for a second at first, having not seen an unfamiliar face in the last three months, but he regained his senses presently. “Here! Over here!” Richard cried, waving his arms at her in an effort to correct her slightly askew trajectory. The woman saw him and came running, a crazed and panicked look in her eye.

Then another person, and another. People emerging from the thick of the jungle, all in a frenzy. Richard ran up to them and pointed back at the mouth of the cave, seeing that the last crypto had been successfully defeated. “Go! Up into the cave, you’ll be safe,” he instructed, and the group carried on with a new burst of energy, seeing a light at the end of their terrifying tunnel.

Richard turned back to watch the stream of people come in, repeating his message for everyone as they passed. Then, he did a double blink when his eyes settled on a face he knew.

“Catherine!” he called, and the woman looked up when she heard her name.

Her eyes landed on Richard and there was a second of blank confusion before recognition finally dawned in the woman’s eyes. “Richard?” she asked in awe, hurrying towards him.

Richard nodded and opened his arms, letting Catherine crash into a relieved hug. “I can’t believe it,” he heard her speak over his shoulder. “She knew. She knew you’d be alive.”

Richard pulled back from the hug and grasped Catherine by the shoulders. There was a certain, wild look in his eye as he asked, “Camille?” Catherine nodded and Richard hurried onto his next question before she could even add a verbal response, “Where is she? Is she here?”

Again, Catherine nodded, this time, pointing back in the direction from whence she had come. “In the back,” she said. “She was holding them off with the others.”

Even before the words were totally out of the woman’s mouth, Richard was lifting his eyes and looking over her head, scanning the line of trees for any sign of Camille. Then he heard a gunshot echoing out of the jungle. “Go,” he told Catherine. “The cave at the top of that incline. It’s safe.”

Separating himself from her, he was about to head off deeper into the woods when he caught the sight of someone falling out of the corner of his eye. He and Catherine both headed over to the older man, who had tripped over a branch, and helped him up. Richard helped the man get steady on his feet and then hooked his arm around Catherine’s shoulders. “Get him up there,” he ordered and then turned back to find Camille.

It wasn’t a long search.

He saw her. Coming out from the foliage, limping and relying heavily on the brawny man who was supporting most of her weight.

And the world came to a halt.

“Camille,” he said, with all of the reverence a mortal has when seeing an apparition. He spoke the name again as his feet began to carry him to her. With every footfall against the firm forest floor, time began to speed up, eventually reaching its natural rate as Richard hurried through it, towards the woman he’d thought he’d lost.

“Camille!” he cried a third time, this one loud enough to be heard, and she looked up, their eyes finally meeting for the first time in three months.

“Richard?” she asked faintly, and he was finally close enough to notice tears in her eyes.

He reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand, trying to take in the full sight of her, but that was hard to do when his brain kept insisting that she wasn’t real. She couldn’t be real. Except here she was. And his fingers were definitely touching something. And there were those eyes, just as he remembered them. Except, she was crying. Why was she crying?

“What’s happened to you?” Richard finally asked, looking down at her leg, seeing how she held it gingerly off of the ground.

“She tripped and rolled her ankle, trying to help me!” Camille’s comrade supplied, reminding Richard that he even existed and that Camille’s arm was presently wrapped around his shoulder.

“They’re coming, Richard. We gained a little ground, but they won’t stop following us,” Camille spoke, and god how he had missed that voice, that accent.

Richard looked past the pair of them, back where the tree line got thicker. “And the rest of your people?”

“Dead.”

Richard looked at her gravely, and then he understood the tears. “Then go,” he said, turning to the other man. “Take her up the incline. Get her in the cave.”

“What about you?” Camille asked.

“I’ll be needing this,” he replied, taking the scoped rifle that had been hanging from Camille’s shoulder by a strap. He tucked his own handgun into the back waistband of his trousers and inspected the new rifle. He could tell Camille was about to say something else, but when a snap sounded from somewhere deep in the jungle, it cut all conversation short. “Get her out of here,” he whispered, and immediately, the other man started carting Camille away.

Richard turned his head and took a second to locate Dwayne; he found him directing survivors where to go. Richard loudly whispered the other man’s name to get his attention and then nodded for him to come with him. Then, after passing one more glance at the back of Camille’s head, Richard took off to move into position. The cryptos were close, he could feel it.

The detective sprinted farther down the slope and put out a hand to catch himself against a tree, quietly lowering himself to one knee, rifle pointed up to the sky for safety. A few yards to the north, Dwayne landed at a parallel tree and crouched behind it. The other man poked his head around the tree and then ducked it back. Looking over at Richard, Dwayne held up three fingers.

Richard nodded in understanding then began a series of motions of his own.

Holding up one finger, Richard mouthed “FIRST ONE” followed by a pointing motion with his full hand, two points back towards the cave, mouthing “LET IT PASS.” Then to explain, he pointed back and forth between Ronnie, Fidel, and Lily back towards the cave, mouthing “TO THEM.”

He watched Dwayne’s face carefully to make sure he was following the message. He appeared to be, so Richard held up two fingers, mouthing “LAST TWO,” and then pointed back and forth between himself and Dwayne, mouthing “YOU AND ME.”

Dwayne nodded broadly at that. Good, he got the message. Now they just had to be quiet.

Richard concentrated on his breathing and tried to slow his pulse rate down from his short sprint. He let his jaw hang loose and cupped his lips into a wide O to minimize the amount of sound his breaths made. What felt like several eternal seconds ticked by while they waited for the first crypto to pass. When it finally did, it didn’t pass between them, as Richard had expected it to do. Instead, Richard heard it slowly creep past behind his back. Based on the wide-eyed look from Dwayne and the gesture to “Shhhh” that he gave him, Richard could only deduce that it passed him at some proximity. He stayed still for as long as he could, until he saw the creature reach the edges of his periphery. Then, stepping out minimally from his hiding place, Richard slowly leveled the rifle at the remaining two cryptos out in the distance.

Because of his angle, he had to aim the rifle in a left-handed stance, not his dominant one. He nestled the butt of the rifle into his left shoulder and dipped his head forward to peer through the scope with his non-dominant eye. The cryptos were staying low to the ground, slowly stalking forward like the monsters that they were. Richard remembered to breathe and kept his breaths slow and even. One of the cryptos opted to climb over a rock instead of moving around it, and it was enough to put the creature easily in Richard’s crosshairs. Then…

A barrage of loud banging sounded from behind him as Ronnie and the others opened fire on the first crypto. The loud noise startled not only Richard, but also his prey. The two remaining cryptos stumbled in fright from the threatening sound and staggered backwards, about to flee.

“Ahhhhhh! HEY!!!! LOOK AT ME! LOOK HERE!”

Stunned, Richard turned to see Dwayne, stepped out from his cover, jumping up and down and waving his arms in the air. Richard snapped his head back towards the cryptos to see the inevitable: Dwayne had got their attention, and now they were both making a bee line for him at top speed. Richard lifted the scope to his eye again and panted against the stock of the weapon as he desperately tried to refocus one of the beasts within his crosshairs. But it was hopeless. They were moving too quickly and he couldn’t keep up with them.

Throwing aside the rifle, Richard drew his handgun and walked out from his cover. He opened fire on the first one at the same time Dwayne started to do likewise. Between the two of them, they took it out and the creature collapsed to the ground like a ragdoll, skidding across the jungle floor in a flurry of flying leaves and sticks. Richard then turned his attention to the second crypto, which was still barreling towards Dwayne, who fired on the creature mercilessly.

The whole time this had been happening, Richard had been instinctively moving in on Dwayne, and when he realized that the second crypto wouldn’t be killed in time, he dropped his weapon and took off at a dead sprint. He leapt in the air towards Dwayne in the same moment that the beast did, and by only a fraction of a moment did the man make it to his target first. He tackled Dwayne to the ground just before the claws of the crypto could close around him.

The two men went tumbling across the jungle floor one way, and the beast went tumbling across the next. Lying on his back, Dwayne regathered his bearings first and threw out his arm, pointing his weapon at the animal once more and opening fire again. This time, he was aided by shots coming from the camp as well. After a deafening display of firepower, the last crypto finally sagged to the ground in defeat.

Richard watched as Dwayne’s arm dropped to the ground, his energy totally spent. The man lolled his head over to the side to look at Richard, and for a moment, both men just stared at each other in total awe, hearts pounding loud enough for them both to hear. After a moment, Dwayne grinned at him and then burst into a frightened laugh, his chest heaving up and down.

But Richard was not in a laughing mood. He scrambled to his knees, lunged at Dwayne a second time and clasped him by the shirt with both hands. “What, the HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!” he screamed at him, shaking him by the shirt in anger.

“They were going to run off!” the other man answered, all laughter completely gone from his voice.

“Which is what we _wanted_ them to do!”

“No sir! We have to get those buggers off our island. We had the upper hand. We had to kill them while we had the chance!”

Richard’s eyes were wild, his pupils tight with panic, and they bounced back and forth between both of Dwayne’s. He took a second to understand Dwayne’s words before saying, “No! It was stupid, and reckless, and could have gotten you-” he didn’t even have it in him to finish the sentence. In a show of strength that frankly surprised them both, Richard dead-lifted Dwayne off of the ground by his shirt and hauled him into a crushing hug. “I thought you were about to die…God, I really thought it,” he said in disbelief, heat welling up in his eyes. 

Richard felt an arm slap around his back and hang on, and he heard Dwayne’s sober words, muffled against his shoulder, “I know. Thank you, Chief.”

After a moment more of that, Richard finally let go and Dwayne was lowered back down to his elbows. The anger flashed back through the detective inspector’s eyes as he said sternly, “Don’t you EVER do that again.”

“Sure thing, Chief,” Dwayne said, his cheeky grin back in place.

Still shaking, Richard stood and began looking around for the weapons he had thrown away. Hyped up on adrenaline, his brain had shut down to only focus on one thought at a time. Weapons. Important resources. Cannot lose them. It took him a moment, but he eventually found both of his discarded guns and then he and Dwayne made the slow climb back up to the cave.

Fidel came down halfway to meet them and threw his arms around Dwayne in relief. He reached out and clamped a hand down on Richard’s shoulder while he was still hugging Dwayne. The detective and the sergeant shared a look that communicated both “He is such an idiot,” and “Thank God he’s not dead.” Richard patted Fidel’s hand and continued to walk past him.

Ronnie then was there and slapped Richard heartily on the back. “Doesn’t get much closer than that, does it?” he said, vibrato in his voice (and not the sort that comes from confidence). Richard had no words to say, just looked at Ronnie in a way that thanked him, handed him the weapons, and then moved on.

He made it through the mouth of the cave and his vision blacked out from the lack of light. He couldn’t see anything right away, but he instantly heard the sound of applause and cheering and only then assumed that Dwayne and the others must have walked in behind him. He blinked hard a few times, enough to hastily make out the faces that were coming up to him, shaking his hand, congratulating him. He pushed by all of them with little interest, his mind still fixated on a single task at a time. He was looking for…

There she was. She too pushed past a few people and hurried to him. His hands were still shaking even as he reached out for her. His fingertips made it there first and he yanked Camille forcefully towards himself, pulling her into the tightest hug of his life. He held the back of her head and pressed it into his shoulder, listening to her weep into his neck. He couldn’t even cry. This was all just a dream to him. And could you even cry in dreams?

“I can’t believe it,” she said over and over again. “I can’t believe you’re alive. I thought I would never see you again.”

As she spoke, all he could think was that she was reading his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly love this chapter so much. There are so many little moments that I could point to as my favorite. It was thrilling to write the action sequences and I loved the relationship moment it accumulated in for Richard and Dwayne. This chapter was also the one that most closely resembles the dream I had which inspired this whole thing. So the entire time I've been posting this story so far, I just kept thinking, "I can't wait for them to read chapter 6!" So I really hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> There's a whole lot more story coming up and, in my opinion, it just gets better from here (now that a certain individual has joined the ranks of the cave people). So I am excited to share that with you soon, and in the meantime, I am excited to hear what you thought of this chapter!


	7. Welcome Home

Chapter Seven: Welcome home

There was a period there, where Richard lost all awareness of everything. Every single thing he had once known and needed seemed to vanish and all he cared about was the person he was holding against his heart, more dearly than he had ever held anything before. He held on in the same way she did, a way that suggested a subtle mistrust of reality, like, despite the contact they felt at their chests, and arms, and palms, and cheeks, the other person might zap from existence at any moment. No, they couldn’t afford to let go. Better to hold on forever.

Then, presently, unrushed, Richard became more aware. His grip on her slowly lessened and his eyes lifted, seeing that he wasn’t the only one who needed to embrace her.

Fidel and his wife Juliette waited patiently, watching the reunion with teary smiles, Dwayne standing beside them already embracing Catherine in a warm hug. Seeing their other friends all waiting their turn, Richard realized he should probably share, so he pulled back from the hug reluctantly, letting his hands linger a while on her arms before saying, “I think, uhh, there’s formed something of a queue.”

Camille turned and her eyes lit up as she saw Fidel and Dwayne. She hugged them both eagerly. “I cannot believe it!” she told the group. “I was so worried. I thought I knew who all of the Honoré survivors were, and when I never saw any of you, I feared the worst. How long have you all been up here?”

“Well, it’s hard to know exactly, but we think about three months,” Fidel stated.

“So just after they surfaced?” Catherine asked.

“A few weeks after, but mostly,” Richard answered, then added towards Camille, “I’m sorry. We tried to look for you.”

Her only answer was to give him an understanding look and reach down to grab his hand for a quick squeeze. Then she held on. Richard’s eyes dropped to her hand, marveling at how it didn’t automatically let go of him after that little squeeze. Truth be told, he sort of checked out of the conversation after that. He was just beginning to come to grips with all of this actually being real, and then another unbelievable thing like that had to happen: She was holding his hand. Not only was she actually here, close enough to touch, but she was touching him, holding his hand, like it was easy and cost her nothing at all. She even talked while doing it, continued to reconnect with their friends and give an account of her survival, all while maintaining this simple contact with him that left him utterly entrapped.

Then something very subtle happened that broke him out of his stupor. In watching their hands, he noticed as Camille tried to shift her weight, but had to do a tiny hop instead. Then he remembered.

“Oh god, your ankle. I’d forgotten,” Richard said, cutting off whoever had been talking.

“Oh, it’s alright, sir.”

“No it isn’t. You shouldn’t be standing. Come here.” He transferred her hand to his other and stepped behind her to move to her opposite side, lifting her arm to brace over his shoulders. “Excuse us, all,” he said to the group and started directing Camille over to the side of the cave.

She said a hasty goodbye over her shoulder and noticed the grins they left behind.

Richard took her over to his bed and gingerly helped lower her down to it. He grabbed his briefcase from where he had left it out earlier and propped it up beneath her leg to elevate it slightly. Then, looking back up at her, he asked “Good?”

She was already smiling at him softly, but she nodded anyway and said, “Good.”

Richard nodded too and looked down at her foot, pinching her shoelaces to undo the ties. He carefully undid the laces and gently pulled the shoe from her foot, then removed the sock. He looked at her ankle for noticeable damage, but truth be told, he didn’t know what he was looking for. “I can get the doctor to have a look,” he mentioned.

“You have a doctor?” Camille asked, surprised. Why did it feel like she just stumbled into the Ritz-Carlton?

Richard nodded. “Good chap; you’ll like him.” Then he made a movement like he was going to go fetch the doctor that instant.

But Camille threw up a hand and insisted, “It’s fine, Richard. He doesn’t need to come now.”

“You sure? He’s very good with legs.”

“I’m sure. He probably already has his hands full.”

Richard turned and searched for the doctor with his gaze. Sure enough, Holden was already tending to the wounds of the newest members of their ranks. “You might be right, there.”

“Just, sit with me a while?”

Richard looked back at her and saw the way she scooted over to one half of the little mat. Swallowing, he crawled forward until he could come to sit beside her, curling his knees up to his chest and trying not to look over at her too much. He lost the battle and had to sneak a few quick glances at her. It was still remarkable to him that she was even there.

“This is new,” Camille said, reaching out and tenderly running the flat of her finger over his beard, starting on one cheek and dipping down below his lips to cross his chin. The gesture made his spine tingle.

“Yes, not entirely…optional out here. But one of our men has a pocket knife with a pair of scissors on it, so I’ve tried to keep it somewhat trimmed,” he explained, reaching up to pinch some hairs on the side Camille couldn’t reach, testing their current length.

“I quite like it,” she said.

That got his attention, and he turned to check her expression, just to see if she was teasing. His mouth hung slightly open when he was struck once again by her familiar beauty. Her hair was longer than he was used to seeing, and it was fastened behind her head in a complicated braid. But her eyes were the same, exactly as he remembered them. Her clothes were filthy, as were his own, but she still somehow radiated a certain elegance. She was smiling at him too, but he didn’t think it was a teasing smile, and Richard’s gaze got trapped at her lips.

“Detective?”

“Yes?” Richard answered, blinking to free himself of her snare before turning towards whoever had called him. He was confused when his eyes settled on the face of a man he had never seen before. He was even more confused when the man appeared to be equally confused by his answer.

“Er, umm, I mean, Detective Sergeant?” the man corrected, looking at Camille to be rescued.

Richard felt sheepish and was grateful that 90% of his blush would be covered by that beard Camille apparently admired so much. He shot an apologetic look over at her as he conceded, “Oh, of course.”

Yes, this time, she was laughing at him, and she snuck him a teasing side eye as she said, “Yes Luis?”

“I was carrying the pack with the food in it and I was just wondering what you wanted me to do with it. Tyler’s got the supply bag and he was wondering the same thing.”

Camille turned to Richard and asked, “Do you have some place you are keeping the food?”

Richard nodded and pointed, “Yes, just across there, along the wall. The water is just to the left of it and then, to the right of it, a ways along the wall, we have our medical station.”

Camille turned back to the man and said, “Add our food and water to the rest, then have Tyler search the supplies for medicine. I don’t think we have much, but add what we can to the doctor’s supplies. Consolidate the remaining supplies and I’ll be over in a minute to have a look.”

The other man nodded obediently and removed himself from the pair to carry out his instructions. When Camille looked back at Richard, he was smirking at her.

“What?” she asked, recoiling slightly.

“So you’re the leader, I take it.”

Camille made a noise that sounded almost like a scoff and said, “Not by choice. They just sort of…picked me.”

His smirk only grew and Richard dropped his gaze to look at his clasped hands. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I imagine you’ve been good at it.” There was a pause and Richard looked over at his neighbor. She turned her head away from him the same moment he turned towards her, but he was almost certain he saw a frown at the corner of her mouth. “Camille?” he asked, worried.

“Not always.”

She still wasn’t looking at him. Richard leaned forward in an effort to catch her gaze, and when that didn’t work, he reached out with a cautious hand and just barely tapped her arm.

“I wasn’t always a good leader.” Camille still would not look at him, but she at least looked forward so he could see half of her face. “Sometimes I got people killed…like today,” she said darkly.

Richard’s heart broke, not only at the words, but at the voice speaking them. He dropped his hand to her knee and just waited.

“When we saw the X, we knew there had to be life up here, so we coordinated with another group to consolidate our resources and make the journey across town and then up the mountain. It was a long journey and we had to move slowly. It took us three and a half days just to reach the edge of the city, but we managed it without major incident.”

Camille grew quiet and held her breath, and Richard could tell that she was struggling not to lose her emotions. He squeezed his grip on her knee slightly and rubbed his thumb up and down. After a moment and a deep breath, she finally continued.

“Then today…we were just past the edge of the jungle when we were attacked by a hunting party from the rear. There started out six of them, but two peeled off right away and I lost track of them. We tried to outrun the other four, but…they are so fast.”

Richard just nodded, his chest tightening with every word of her story. He recognized the sort of situation she described; he had witnessed it himself enough.

“One of our older people, her name was Mama Jasmine…she wasn’t fast enough, and one of them carried her away.”

The first tear finally slipped from Camille’s eyes and she quickly wiped it away, conscious of the fact that any one of her people might be watching her right now. Richard knew the feeling.

“We fought as much as we could, but we only had three weapons, and one was very long range, so...you know, clumsy.”

Richard just nodded.

“We would run, then stop and shoot, run some more, and stop and shoot. I do think we injured at least one, but all three of them kept gaining on us. Then…another one of my people, Eric Stevens, he turned to shoot at them but tripped or something and, I tried to go back for him. But I was too late, they…closed in on him too fast. All three of them stopped for him. They just…his screaming was so loud, and all I could do was run. Honestly…it is probably the only reason we were able to put so much distance between us and them. Because they stopped for him. Then Rodney was the one falling, and I rolled my ankle helping him to get up quickly. I knew they wouldn’t stay distracted for long and soon they would take up the chase again. The next thing I knew, you were there, and there was this cave and…” The tears welled up in her eyes once again and she nodded once in her mother’s direction.

Richard turned and saw Catherine, holding a young girl, probably no older than four, who wept like the baby she was.

“That’s his daughter, Cassidy,” Camille finished.

“Good lord,” Richard said dimly. “And her mother?”

“Not in the picture. Eric never said what happened to her.”

“Good lord,” he repeated. A long silence drew out between them while Richard tried to absorb all of that tragedy, and Camille tried to file away the guilt from it. Richard struggled to know what to say, mostly because he knew nothing would help. Nothing had helped him, after all.

It was something Richard thought about almost daily, and why he was so hesitant to send teams down into Honoré. Early on, they had had three successful runs down into the city for supplies, and they got careless as a result. Richard split up the weapons too much that day, sending out multiple teams to different locations with only a single gun for each group, and the strategy had failed in the worst way. One group was attacked and didn’t have enough firepower to defend itself. They lost one life that day and very nearly lost a second to her wounds. When their groups rendezvoused later back at camp, Richard would never forget how his stomach had dropped to his toes upon seeing the shredded remains of the team he had sanctioned. They were lucky to have lost only one person, and that was a macabre kudo to claim. That sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach lasted for days afterward.

So in the end, to Camille, he could only say, “I’m so sorry. I…I know what you’re feeling…”

Camille lifted her eyes to look at him achingly, and he looked over at her with echoed sympathy. “But…” he went on, “I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Oh Richard,” Camille sighed, resting her hand over his, which was still gently holding her knee.

Again, Richard’s eyes were drawn down to their touching hands. He remembered a time, not long ago, when he had wracked his brain to recall her hands. Now, one of them was resting gently over his own, and as he stared down at it, he studied its shape and size, the color, the feel of it too. He would not make the same mistake of forgetting it twice. He concentrated until he could memorize every aspect, and for some reason, it felt like the most important piece of knowledge he had ever stored away inside his brain.

He slowly turned his over until he saw her fingers intertwine with his, his light fingers mixing with her dark ones like the keys of a piano. It was stunning to look at. What was happening? There were too many emotions firing in Richard’s head all at once, he could barely keep them straight. Almost as if reacting to a flame, Richard let go and yanked his hand back on impulse, feeling himself settle into his old nerves like he was putting on his old suit.

He blubbered and stammered for a moment until proper words started coming out. “I, uh, is there…anything I can get you? Hmm? Some water?”

Camille also pulled back her hand, hers much more slowly, and curling into a fist upon which she propped her head. “Actually, some water would be nice,” she said, a sort of resignation and disappointment in her voice.

Richard nodded and almost got up, stopping to ask, “And, have you eaten today?”

She nodded a little. “This morning.”

“But not since?”

Camille shook her head, and Richard heaved himself forward until he could work himself up onto two feet. “Just have a rest here, and I’ll be back.”

Richard tried to clear his mind and properly calibrate his behavior against his emotions as he walked across the cave floor. It wasn’t like him to indulge in such physical impulses, especially not with Camille. And the fact that he seemed so ready to do so now was startling, if not, possibly, a little understandable. It was as if the return of Camille had brought with it a return of the old Richard as well, and Richard was shocked to be reunited with them both. Had he not ached to have that hand in his own once more? Had the thought of touching her again, even holding her, not filled his mind as he drifted off to sleep more nights than he could count? So why then, had he yanked himself away from her just now? Why was he currently in the process of putting even more distance between the two of them?

Those questions had to go unanswered for the time being as Richard became distracted by Ronnie’s son, Lukas. The little boy had pulled up alongside Richard and was matching him in speed, heading in the same direction of the cave. Except while Richard’s hands were free, Lukas carried a tiny dog. And wherever he was going, he seemed to be going there with some purpose.

Richard watched as the boy went right over to Catherine, who was still trying to console the newly orphaned little girl. “If she wants,” the boy began, “she can pet my little dog. His name is Dorito, and he’s real good at making people feel better.”

“Oh, I think she’d like that,” Catherine said warmly. Then down to the crying child, she said, “Wouldn’t you, Cassidy darling? Shall we have a cuddle with this boy’s little dog?”

Richard watched as the animal was gingerly placed in the young girl’s lap, and how the tears gave way to little sniffles as she carefully stroked its shedding coat. Catherine looked up and saw Richard watching them, his eyes sad but his mouth somehow smiling. She echoed the look back to him, and he had to turn away, too moved to watch any further. He was glad Ronnie had convinced him to let the people keep their meager pets. They had their uses after all.

Richard collected a canteen he knew was still mostly full and then stopped by the “pantry” to inspect the fruit. He took a moment picking the least overly-ripe banana and then tore it from the bundle. When he turned around to return his bounty to his waiting detective sergeant, he was halted by the sight of her standing and hobbling across the cave on her own.

“I do think I said to ‘have a rest,’ didn’t I?” he said, a little sternly, when he met her in the middle.

“I told my people I would help sort the supplies,” Camille said, accepting the banana that was rather aggressively forced on her.

“It’ll keep until morning,” Richard insisted. “The sun’s nearly down and let me tell you, once it dips behind the mountain peak, it’s dark as sin in here. We need to have everyone settled and not still bumping about before that. In fact…”

Richard looked around to the whole group and realized that no one had given them an official welcome yet. He backed himself into an area of the cave where he knew the acoustics were particularly carrying. “Excuse me, everyone,” he said, raising his voice in his customary way. It took a bit longer for things to quiet down than usual, partially because the crowd was still excited about the new survivors, but also no doubt because the new members weren’t used to hearing speeches. Regardless, Richard was happy waiting and eventually, the cave did quiet down. “Sorry, can everyone hear me? Good. Well, this won’t be long, but I did want to take this moment to offer a very hearty and _warm_ welcome to all of our newest arrivals.” Richard had to pause there as the cave erupted in a boisterous round of applause.

“I’ve been made to understand that…today has been a…particularly difficult day, and that truly, the last several days have been, quite the trial. And to that, I can only commend you all for your bravery and tenacity in performing an incredible feat by getting yourselves here. _Very_ well done.”

There was another round of claps and agreements, these ones more somber, before Richard continued. “I know it’s been quite the journey, but I do want to assure you that…we _have_ enjoyed, tucked away in this little cave, some semblance of peace and safety. So I would like to implore you all, I know it’s hard, but do try to relax. You’re safe here.”

Richard looked around the room and saw the teary nods and blissful sighs of a people weary from stress and grief. He let the moment rest before he went on, “To all of us who have called this cave home for the last few months, be hospitable. Share what you have. Help our new members get situated as best we can for the night. Sun’s nearly down, so, settle in, and…in the morning, we’ll have a more formal orientation, I suppose. Telling you all where we keep things and how we go about tasks and that sort of thing. But for now, if you are sick or injured, please don’t hesitate to visit Dr. Booker Holden if you haven’t already.” Richard indicated the doctor, and Holden waved his hand with a friendly smile. “Any other questions, you can bring them to me, my name is Richard, or you can bring them to Mr. Ronnie Cartwright, and we will gladly help you anyway we can. Apart from that, settle in, have some water, something to eat, and we’ll talk more tomorrow. Thank you.”

There was another, customary round of applause (just because that seemed the thing to do after a speech) and then conversations picked up again as people tried to do just that: settle in for the night. Richard returned to Camille, who passed him an impressed rise of the eyebrow.

“Nice speech,” she said.

“Thank you, now I hope you realize you’re supposed to eat this. Not just hold it,” he replied, tapping the banana pointedly. Camille just rolled her eyes in reply and Richard assumed the position to help her back across the cave without putting strain on her leg. It was a slow journey as Richard was trying to be extra careful, not just out of consideration for Camille’s injury, but also for everyone else. The expansive floor space of the cave was largely taken up with rows of peoples’ carefully constructed beds, and Richard tried to weave himself and Camille through the maze without stepping on anyone’s belongings. Most of the beds were empty, so that made things a little easier, but still. 

When they arrived at their destination, Camille freed herself from his grasp and asked, “Richard…this is your bed, isn’t it?”

Richard halted at the foot of his mat, and his mouth gaped for a response, feeling heat rise to his cheeks again. “Wh-, umm, what makes you think that?”

Camille lowered herself down to the mat and crawled onto it. When she turned around, she held a familiar object in her hand. “Because this is the only bed I see that has a book resting on the pillow.” She waved the little item for emphasis, and Richard was thoroughly caught.

He cleared his throat. “Well spotted. Alright, it is mine.”

“I thought so,” she said, a proud little smile on her face while she looked around his meager property.

“And of course,” Richard began, awkwardly, “you don’t have to stay, if, well…we could always find-”

“I’m quite comfortable here,” Camille confirmed, her gaze flicking up at him from under her lashes, something between a confession and an invitation. An invitation into his own bed. If Richard gulped in that moment, he couldn’t be blamed.

“Right,” he said momentarily, but didn’t move. He just stood there, taking in the sight of her sprawled out. How is it that this day seemed to move so quickly? That morning, he had been up at the X, putting splinters in his hands as he tried to repair the damage from last night’s storm, and now, Camille Bordey was lying in his bed. It didn’t even feel like the same day.

“I’m not kicking you out,” she said, with something in her tone that Richard couldn’t define. 

“No-no, I know,” he said hastily. Then again, “I know. I just…” He was blushing. He knew he was blushing, and he hated his cheeks for it.

She gave him the fraction of a smile and added, “It won’t be the first time.”

And Richard knew the night she meant; he had it memorized from its countless repeat performances in the theater of his mind…trapped with her in a university’s meteorology center, pinned down by a tropical storm, sharing secrets of the past. That night, he had recklessly reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder as she slept, and she had rewarded him with a secret sigh of contentment. Bravely, selfishly, he had let his hand rest there all night, greedy for the contact, chaste though it was.

“So it won’t,” he said quietly, and to his credit, he actually got himself to move after that. Kneeling down, he carefully returned himself to his previous position, sat right next to her, sharing half of the mat.

“As long as you’re not uncomfortable-” Camille began, showing her own uncertainty for the first time.

“No, I’m fine,” Richard hastily answered. “Comfortable.”

He looked over at her and nodded. And she nodded too. Then they were nodding together.

It was obviously awkward. Richard had made it awkward somehow, but Camille was always good in situations like these. She chuckled a little to herself and then found a perfectly decent change of topic. “Thank you for my banana,” she said, lifting the fruit into view.

“Ah, and…” Richard looked around himself to find where he had put the canteen, grabbing it victoriously a second later. “…water. Mademoiselle,” he said, unscrewing the cap and handing her the container.

Camille gasped dramatically. “Richard Poole speaking French?”

“Don’t get used to it. Consider it a ‘welcome home’ present.”

“Home. Oh is that where this is?” she asked playfully, looking around the darkening cave as night began to fall.

“Well…back to me anyway.”

That came out more sentimental than he had intended it, and when she looked over at him in surprise, Richard was forced to look away as heat rose to his cheeks. He let his eyes wander, instead, to the progress of the group as everyone began to quiet down and settle into their beds for the night. He was glad to see several of his people helping Camille’s by giving them their extra comfort items or even sharing their beds outright. “Seems like everyone is settling in,” he mused.

Camille peeled her banana as she nodded, “We probably should too.”

Richard had been right about the sunset, and the cave had gone almost completely black very quickly. He had a little electric lantern that he kept by his bed and he flicked it on before the cave could be completely swallowed by the darkness. Richard let Camille get to her fruit and wash it down with the water while he sorted out the blanket. It wasn’t remarkably thick, so he had been doubling it up. But if he unfolded it, it would be wide enough for them both. It only took a few minutes before Camille was shimmying further down the mat and letting herself lay down fully.

Richard also laid back, propping himself on an elbow and reaching across her to make sure the blanket covered her entirely before seeing to himself. He folded the top of the blanket down slightly and then tucked it under her arm. It was only then that he looked up at her face and was struck by the intimacy of this action. Seeing Camille’s beautiful features illuminated by the soft glow of the lantern, Richard’s breath was taken away. He was met with a certain feeling, one he had once been accustomed to but which he hadn’t felt since being separated from her: He felt the impulse to bend down and kiss her. And especially now, after everything that had happened and how close he had come to losing her, the feeling was stronger than he had ever felt it before.

But he wouldn’t kiss her, and that too was a familiar feeling, one that brought with it a certain level of frustration, mostly at himself. But he wouldn’t allow himself to give in to this singular temptation. Not now. Not when she had been through such a traumatic ordeal these last few days, and even months. He wanted her to feel safe here, safe in this cave and yes, especially safe in his bed. Now would not be the time to make an unwanted advance and break the sanctuary of this place. Granted, with everything that had happened today, Richard wasn’t altogether convinced anymore that an advance from him would be “unwanted,” but all the same, he wouldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t do anything that might put her on edge. She deserved to rest.

“Comfortable?” he asked in a whisper.

Camille only nodded slowly.

Richard nodded too, and then he had to do the hard part. He carefully turned his body until he could lay down fully, feeling the way his shoulder and hip both pressed up against her due to the tiny confines of the mat. He may have to add more moss to this. Then he slowly and intentionally lowered his head down onto the pillow, right beside her own.

Richard turned his head ever so slightly in her direction, not actually all the way, but enough to ask, “Ready for the light to go?”

He sensed her nod and barely heard her hushed, “Mhmm,” and so he reached over and flicked off the light, letting the cave go completely dark. Richard folded his hands over his tummy and stared wide-eyed at the cave ceiling invisible above him. He had to take in an unbelieving breath when he felt Camille reposition onto her side, facing him. Her face just inches away from his ear.

He felt her reach out and claim one of his hands for her own, threading their fingers together once more. “Goodnight, Richard,” she whispered through the darkness and right into his ear.

Richard turned his face just slightly toward her, feeling her nose touch the side of his cheek, their mouths impossibly close. “Goodnight, Camille.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, a nice long chapter (you guys deserve it). Once again, thank you for reading! I don't know about you, but I think it feels so good to have Camille in the mix again. I really missed her for those first five chapters. And I absolutely adore writing scenes like this between Richard and Camille. She seems to bring out the awkward in him and I find it adorable. :) Hope you're still enjoying the story, and the next chapter will be up soon! Let me know your thoughts on this chapter in the meantime. What was your favorite part?


	8. Holding on tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far! As I was writing this story, it sort of fell into a three act structure. Chapters 1-7 can be considered Act One, or what I like to think of as the B.C. portion of the story (Before Camille). Now, with her on board, the story can progress into it's next arc. 
> 
> Welcome to Act Two.

Chapter Eight: Holding on tight

The first thing Richard became aware of was the gentle tapping on his shoulder. The second thing was her.

Evidently, things had changed during the night and instead of simply holding hands, they had decided to hold a great deal more. Camille was lying almost completely on his chest and both of his arms were wrapped securely around her. As he slipped steadily into wakefulness, he felt her squirm around to minutely change her position, punctuating her movements with a soft moan. Richard increased his grip around her ever so slightly. The tapping persisted.

“Richard,” he heard in a whispered voice. “Richard, I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s Trevor. He’s gotten worse.”

That caused Richard to open his eyes and turn in the direction of the voice. He made an unintelligible grumble that he vaguely intended to mean “Tell me more,” and squinted up at his awakener with one eye while the rest of his body succumbed to a stretch.

All of the movement and sound seemed to wake Camille as well. She breathed in deeply and turned her head, rubbing her sleepy face across his shirt before lifting her half-lidded gaze. “Good morning,” she said drowsily, and surely, this was the best morning of Richard Poole’s life.

“Good morning,” he echoed, looking down at her and causing the skin to bunch up in rolling wrinkles at his throat. Probably not very attractive, but she smiled at him anyway, rolling off of his chest and back onto her side. Richard’s ribs immediately ached at the relief. They both rubbed their eyes and scratched their faces and looked up at the man who had awakened them.

The doctor grimaced sympathetically at them both. “Again, I am sorry for disturbing you. …Hello,” this last part, Holden nodded towards the mysterious woman whom Richard was still holding with one arm.

Richard looked between them and had the presence of mind to make introductions. “Doctor, this is Camille. Camille, this is Booker Holden, the doctor I told you about.”

“How do you do?” Camille replied, her voice scratchy and adorable.

“Charmed,” Holden said with a contemplative twinkle in his eye. “…Richard never mentioned-”

“What was it? You were saying, about Trevor?” Richard hastily interjected, now fully awake. He wasn’t entirely sure what Holden had meant to say, but he was certain it would have put him in an awkward position either way. It was early morning and the cave was still very dim, but Richard could still make out the amused (and perhaps more than a little curious) expression on Holden’s face. He hoped the good doctor could also make out the expression of veiled warning to “drop it” that Richard wore on his own.

“Who is Trevor?” Camille asked, dropping her hand onto Richard’s chest when she was finished hunting down itches. And if Richard had been worried that the doctor would continue to fixate on him and Camille, the subject of Trevor did seem to make Holden’s attitude shift back to serious. It was only then that Richard noticed the signs of utter exhaustion on the other man’s face.

“He’s a young man here. Very sick,” Richard supplied.

“And he’s getting worse. I thought we could delay a little longer, but…his mother and I have been up all night with him. He’s not taking water anymore and…the truth is we’re losing him. I’ve explained to both him and his mother about the prospects of an operation and they understand the risks. They’ve agreed; I think at this point, they both know they have little option.”

“An operation? Is it that serious?” Camille asked, now fully awake as well.

Richard and the doctor both answered “Yes” in unison. Then Holden added lowly, “If we’re going to do this, I don’t think we can put it off any longer. We need to send a team today.”

Richard nodded and started to reposition himself so he could sit up slightly, feeling his legs finally untangle from Camille’s as he pulled himself up.

Holden handed him a small sheet of paper and a pocket flashlight. “Here’s the list you asked for.”

“I asked for two,” the inspector pointed out. Holden flipped the little page over, revealing a second list on the back. Richard used the flash light to discreetly examine both lists, conscious of the fact that most people around him would still be trying to sleep.

Camille wrapped her hands around Richard’s bicep and leaned her cheek on his shoulder to read along with him. Presently, her brow furrowed. “Where do you plan to find all of this?”

“Honoré general,” Richard mumbled in reply.

“You can’t get all the way to Honoré general!” Camille said, bouncing her head off of her Richard Pillow at the sheer audacity of the thought. “It’s at the far eastern side of the city! It would take you a week just to get there.”

And a week back, Richard realized. He looked over at the doctor hesitantly. “Could he make it two weeks?”

Holden didn’t look confident. “It’s hard to say. I’d hope yes, but…”

“No, you aren’t hearing me,” Camille insisted. “You _cannot_ make it. There are dozens of families of those things between here and there. And even if you manage to get all the way there, I can almost promise you that the hospital has already been looted. There is no guarantee that those things will even still be there.”

Richard looked over at the doctor and they both had the same expression, the one that asked if all hope was lost. Richard turned the paper over and examined the list of “creative substitutes” for the medical supplies Holden needed. “And if I could get you only these?” Richard asked.

Holden turned his head to one side with a grimace. “It wouldn’t be my preference. But if it’s the best we can do, it’s the best we can do.”

“Hang on, you don’t have an anesthetic here,” Richard said, looking at the list. Holden reached out and pointed at one item. “Vodka or similar?” Richard asked incredulously. “The boy can’t keep down water and you want to give him hard liquor?”

“ _You_ said to be creative and _I_ said it wouldn’t be ideal.”

Richard sighed and clicked off the flashlight. He let his head fall back against the pillow and ran the back of his hand against his brow. “Alright,” he said after some time. “Wake Ronnie.”

“I’m coming with you,” Holden asserted.

Richard almost snorted at the suggestion. “You most certainly are not.”

“Nobody knows what to look for as well as I do.”

“Not true,” Richard said casually. “I have a list. Two in fact.”

“Richard.”

“Booker, we only have one basket, and I’m afraid you’re a rather important egg...Wake Ronnie.”

Altogether, Richard wanted to keep this team small. If Camille’s assessment of the city’s crypto population was accurate (and there was no reason for it not to be), then having a small team would give them a greater chance of moving through the city unnoticed. At the same time, he recalled the fight that had taken place between Edward Fry and Rudy Kent, and how both men had indicated a frustration with the dwindling food supplies. Richard decided, therefore, that he would take a larger team of six as far as the elementary school. Then he and Ronnie would peel off from the rest and carry on, deeper into the city in search of the medical supplies, while Fidel would lead the remaining three members back to the camp with the food.

Richard stood beside the armory, reloading all of the magazines with ammunition. Despite their best efforts at staying quiet, assembling a team of six people and preparing them for an arduous journey was not the easiest thing to keep “under wraps,” and so Richard was unsurprised to hear a decent number of their population stirring to wakefulness behind him as he worked. He was, however, surprised when he saw a familiar figure step up beside him and start loading her weapon.

“Umm…” was the most articulate reaction he could manage, wondering if she was merely helping him, or if she meant that other thing.

“You have been up in this cave for three months while I have been down there,” Camille said, her eyes never leaving the work of her hands. “You will need a guide.”

That other thing, then.

“But…your ankle,” he tried.

“Is fine,” Camille finished. She obviously wasn’t very impressed with the argument.

“Well…did Dr. Holden have a look at it?”

“I didn’t need him to.” For proof, Camille hopped on the damaged leg a few times, never flinching from the pain. Richard grimaced for her. “And one quick question,” Camille said, turning back to her weapon and asking innocently, “Did you hear me ask permission?”

Richard’s mouth bent into a contemplative frown and his eyes darted once to the side. “No,” he answered.

Camille’s rifle cocked a bullet into the chamber with a clean _schinkt_ and she turned back to him. “Neither did I,” she said and turned to exit the cave, leaving a somewhat befuddled Richard in her wake.

It was all coming back to him now: their constant battle of the wills, Camille’s stubborn defiance and not misplaced sense of self assurance, her unwillingness to ask anyone else to do what she herself was too afraid to do, and her utter inability to follow orders when she thought they were stupid. The memory came back like a brash aftertaste as Richard suddenly remembered all of the headaches she had given him through the years. Apparently that much hadn’t changed. And yet, Richard couldn’t help the sly half smile that took up residence on his face as he quietly muttered, “Right,” and followed her out of the cave.

Richard held a simple mission briefing out in front of the cave once everyone was assembled. The group had known about the food collecting mission at the primary school, but the part where he, Camille, and Ronnie would separate from the group for an extended mission into the heart of Honoré was news to them.

“Sir, are you sure that is the wisest decision?” Fidel asked, respectfully voicing the same concerns everyone else was thinking.

“It may in fact not be wise, but I’m afraid we no longer have a choice. Dr. Holden, Ronnie and I have been monitoring this situation for some time now, and the doctor has been very clear: Trevor’s chances of survival dwindle with every passing day. Now, we’ve lost people before. We can’t forget that,” he said solemnly, watching as the mood darkened at his words. “But this isn’t a crypto we’re talking about. It’s an illness, one we have the chance of fighting. Every time we have lost someone before, it has been quick, too quick for us to do anything about it. But this time, death is staring us in the face and for once, we have a chance to prevent it. And as long as we have that chance, I intend to take it. Wise decision or not.” He looked over at Fidel at this last part, and was met with a resolute nod from the other man.

“In the meantime,” Richard continued, “you might have noticed that our ranks have just grown considerably, which means we have a lot more mouths to feed. It’s important that the rest of you bring back as much food as you can reasonably carry. With every person who sees that X and comes to join us on this little hill, hope is restored; I know you can feel it.” Richard saw a chain of nods roll through the group at his words. “But it also makes the task of survival that much more challenging. If we’re going to keep up with demand, you four will have to be successful today.”

When his speech was concluded, everyone gathered up their equipment and started down the path towards the city, courage bolstered within them and a noble resolve in their steps.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” Camille said, coming up to walk alongside Richard.

“At what?”

“The speeches.”

“Richard is definitely the most articulate of the group, so we let him do most of the talking. He has a knack for inspiring people,” Ronnie offered, coming up along Richard’s other side.

“I remember a few of the speeches he used to give to the press when we would finish an important case, and none of them ever went as well as that,” Camille observed, causing Richard to shoot her a slightly affronted look.

Ronnie just shrugged. “Ah well,” the bloke sighed. “The end of the world changes everyone, I guess. You knew Richard before?”

“I’m standing right between you, you know,” Richard noted incredulously.

Camille nodded with a, “Mhmm, we worked together.” Then Richard had to flinch backward slightly when she shot out a hand in front of him and said, “I’m Camille.”

Ronnie smiled and shook the hand that was offered to him. “I’m Ronnie, and I guess you could say I work with him now.”

Richard looked down at the weird little seatbelt of salutation that had formed in front of him, and he reached up to forcefully break the two apart, just to reclaim his own personal space. “Yes, yes, good. Greetings all around. Now can you two please stop behaving as if I’m not even here?”

Ronnie straightened his neck to peer at Camille from around the back of Richard’s head. “Did he always used to be this cranky?”

Camille giggled and said, “I suppose the end of the world doesn’t change a person _that_ much.”

“Oh for Christ’s, here,” Richard said, scooting himself out from between them and forcing Camille to close the gap he left. He took her old spot on the outskirts of the trio and harrumphed, “Knock yourselves out.”

Camille and Ronnie both laughed good-naturedly while Richard reached into his pocket to pull out a small compass he kept with him. He tried to ignore the other two, but that was made difficult to do when Camille reached out and took his hand.

That had been happening a lot lately, but the novelty of it still hadn’t worn off. Richard’s eyes dropped to the junction of their hands and something warm fluttered in his chest and heated his cheeks. His irritated attitude completely evaporated, he looked up and found her smiling at him. Camille altered her stride and purposefully bumped into his shoulder in a teasing nudge. And she chuckled a little bit, casually, like this was normal. But was this normal? Could Richard get used to her behaving this way? Reaching out and grabbing his hand in public? Wearing smiles that seemed to belong to him?

Then Richard looked past Camille and caught sight of Ronnie eyeing their hands with thinly restrained interest and surprise. The other man lifted his gaze and made eye contact with Richard, cocking an eyebrow at him questioningly. Instinctually, Richard flinched and released Camille’s hand, bringing his own hand up to tap on the glass of the compass he had been holding. He mumbled something about not thinking it was working and, oh yes, there it goes, much better. And then he shoved his hand, still somewhat tingly from where Camille had held it, deep into his pocket.

He knew he would have to answer for that later, certainly to Ronnie and most likely to Camille too. And judging by the looks he had gotten that morning from Holden, there was almost no doubt that both men would corner him the first chance they got and interrogate him about this mysterious woman who seemed to have appeared from nowhere and who apparently liked a good cuddle.

Perhaps he had been wrong not to mention her before now. But the truth was, before yesterday, he had no way of knowing if she was even still alive, and if he was being honest, he would have to admit that avoiding talking about her (and even thinking about her) was the only way he had managed to maintain his sanity these last several months. There were just too many feelings happening all at once and Richard didn’t have the emotional fluency to organize and process them adequately, so instead he piled all of those emotions into a mental suitcase and sat on it. It was the only way he really found to cope.

There was another reason why he hadn’t wanted to think about Camille all that time. In those rare moments, when Richard would let that mental case inch open and thoughts of Camille would slip out, they would start to vaguely come together and form the edges of a feeling he hadn’t felt since his university days, but which he thought he recognized all the same. And that realization was troubling and saddening in its own way. Because if it were in fact true, and he was only discovering it now, when she might be lost forever, then Richard honestly had no idea how to handle such a revelation, and the loss of his colleague and friend would have also meant the loss of something else too, something even more profound. It was much easier to simply keep that case closed.

And then the unthinkable had happened, and she had, somehow, been miraculously restored to him. Then, Richard made the shocking discovery that some of those unprocessed emotions didn’t need processing anymore, because they were suddenly perfectly obvious to him. Namely, that he was glad to have her back, that he never wanted to be apart from her again, and that he could never hold her close enough.

But having her back also had a reverse side-effect, because seeing her again and interacting with her regularly brought back all sorts of memories and feelings from before the cryptos surfaced. Seeing her was a bit like having a portion of that old life restored. The old world. And Richard was suddenly and jarringly confronted with the Old Richard: a man who was awkward, repressed, and so very unsure of himself in virtually every non-investigatory way. While being apart from Camille, Richard had made certain progresses in the way he felt and thought about her, but seeing her now suddenly reminded him of where he left things with her, which is to say: Awkward, repressed, and so very unsure. It seemed wrong to just dive headlong into something without the appropriate approach, and so Richard wanted to be careful.

But he also wanted to hold her again tonight, and every night again afterward, and he wanted to be with her when he was awake too, keeping an eye on her to make sure she was alright. In fact, he was certain he never wanted to let her out of his sight again, if he could help it. Oh dear…he could see that becoming a little oppressive. He would have to be careful about that. But the point was, he had new feelings, and old feelings, and in balancing the two, New Richard would have to battle the Old Richard and try to shake himself out of old habits.

Resolute in that decision, Richard abruptly pulled his hand from his pocket and he took Camille’s hand again, holding on tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on the story so far. You know that I love hearing from you guys and every time I get an alert that one of you has left a comment, I start grinning like an idiot. It really does make my day. So thank you.
> 
> Next chapter is a long one! So stay tuned for that!


	9. Supply run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alight friends, bit of housekeeping I need to address before we move on to the story. Firstly, thank you as always for reading. But secondly, I wanted to warn you that the upload schedule for this story might be changing slightly moving forward. Today is my first day of a new job, and because of the new schedule, I might not be able to continue uploading these chapters in the morning. Most likely, they will have to go up after I return home in the evenings. I live on the American west coast, so depending where you live in the world, this will affect all of you in different ways. For most, the change will hardly be noticeable, I’m sure. But I wanted to at least give you the heads up that it will be happening. I am going to try to keep my uploading on an “every other day” schedule, so that will hopefully stay the same. But if I falter on it a little bit, I apologize. 
> 
> So that’s my news. Just wanted to inform you guys of the situation in case it affected any of you. Thank you for your attention. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Chapter Nine: Supply run

There’s a period, on the island of St. Marie, where the world it at its quietest. In the earliest lights of the morning, the sounds of the nocturnal creatures have died away but have not yet been replaced by their diurnal counterparts. On mornings like these, the gentle breeze is the only thing awake, as the rest of the island sleeps. Except this morning, something else was there to disturb the quiet jungle: the rhythmic, steady footfalls of a small band of people, descending the mountain in a lazy zigzag.

As he marched along with the others, Richard’s mind took a nagging problem off of its shelf and began to examine it, as Richard’s mind was prone to do.

The cryptos could not easily tunnel through the igneous rock of Mount Esmée, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t comfortably traverse the distance surface side, a fact made painfully clear by the five cryptos who had pursued Camille’s team all the way to the cave. Richard preferred it if the beasts would go on thinking that the mountain was inhospitable to their digging and therefore not worth exploring. And luckily, the only five to have ever come close to the survivor’s cave were now dead, so the species was not as likely to learn from their discovery. Still, it made Richard a little nervous knowing that at least a few of the creatures had figured out how to tackle the mountain. And if anymore survivors on the island followed the beacon of the X, it’s fair to imagine that one or two of them might have a horde of cryptos on their tails again.

He quietly shared these concerns with Ronnie and Camille as they led the group down the mountainside, and the three of them began discussing the possibility of employing some kind of barricade around the perimeter of the camp.

The conversation died down as they approached midday, the ground leveling out beneath them as they made their way into the outskirts of Honoré. They had a large group, and lots of footfall all at once was one of the ways cryptos were alerted to the presence of prey in the area. Knowing this, Camille advised that they only move in two groups at a time once they reached the city, with a group of three leading the way, and then holding their position as the second group of four joined them. With this strategy, they worked their way through the city of Honoré like an inch worm. It took time, but they eventually made it to the primary school a little after noon.

They made it onto the property and Fidel quietly closed the chain-link gate behind them. Ronnie led the team into the school through the gymnasium, through the boys’ bathroom, into the hall, and then around three corners until they made their way into the lunchroom. From there, it was just a turn around the lunch counter and then through the large accordion doors into the pantry.

“Oh wow,” Camille whispered in awe, her eyes climbing the numerous, long shelves, fully stocked with food. “I can’t believe this has been sitting here all this time.”

“Right,” Richard said under his breath, shooting a glance over at Ronnie. For the first time, he understood why the other man had been so upset at having to leave this here last time. 

“Okay listen,” Ronnie said. “Richard, you should go stand look-out by the lunch counter. That’s the only entrance, so if we have that covered, we should be fine. Everyone else, get your bags ready and come with me.”

The group obediently opened their satchels and pulled out more bags, then followed Ronnie into the deep pantry. Richard and Camille both turned to each other in quiet hesitation. It was something they never discussed outright, but ever since their reunion, neither one of them was very keen on the idea of separating. Richard was shocked by how easily his anxiety peaked at the mere suggestion of doing it now, even though he knew there would be no danger for her in there. Still…

“Will you be alright out here?” Camille asked him, and Richard could only assume she was experiencing the same dilemma.

“Oh, I should think so,” Richard answered, trying to seem casual while looking out at the eerily empty lunch room.

He looked back at her and tried to smile reassuringly. Camille hesitated a moment, reaching out to grab his forearm. She squeezed him gently as he looked down at her hand. When he looked back up and caught her eye, he smirked a little and said, “I know.”

Camille nodded minutely, then her eyes skipped past Richard and she noticed a collection of paper bowls on the counter. Releasing him, she walked over and grabbed one of the bowls from the pile and crouched to place it on the ground. “Here,” she said, unscrewing her canteen and pouring some water into the bowl.

“Umm, thank you. Except you do know I’m not a spaniel, don’t you?”

Camille gave him a look and then explained. “Watch for ripples; it will tell you if there is any tunneling around us.”

That…actually made a lot of sense. “Oh…right,” Richard faltered, feeling appropriately embarrassed. “Very clever.”

She gave him another look, this one accompanied with the slight tug of a grin, and she started heading towards the pantry to join the others. As she passed him, she reached out and pinched the fleshy part of his hand, just below his pinkie. That made him smile and he watched her with that soft smile all the way until she disappeared into the pantry.

Richard turned and assumed his role as lookout, instantly feeling his spirits drop when he got another look out at the wreckage of the abandoned lunchroom. There were several trays of half-eaten, soiled meals lying abandoned on the tables, with some chairs overturned or otherwise skewed. It elicited an image of utter pandemonium as school children and faculty alike rushed to reach safety amidst a crypto attack. He wondered if the beasts had ever made it in this far, or if a mere alert that they were in the area was enough to force an evacuation of this lunch room. He hoped it was the latter, but his mind still played out scenes of the former, with terrified children and woefully unequipped school teachers running for their lives, the high ceiling of the cafeteria echoing their own screams back at them. Richard didn’t know that he believed in god, but he found himself praying that they had made it out safely, somehow.

Camille, Ronnie, and the others all made quick work of the pantry, coming out with several bulging bags apiece, as well as several more items secured together with rope. Ronnie and Camille both held smaller loads, but they had grabbed a few light items for their journey deeper into Honoré.

“That was quick,” Richard muttered as Camille picked up the bowl and pierced its bottom to let the water pour back into her canteen. The team regrouped for a moment to confirm the plan: Richard, Ronnie, and Camille would carry on their journey while Fidel would lead the remaining members of the team back to camp. Richard told Fidel of their earlier discussion about creating a barricade around the cave to keep the cryptos from showing up on their doorstep again. He charged Fidel with the task of communicating this plan to the rest of the group and beginning construction on it while Richard and the others were away. Fidel accepted this mission and heartily shook the hands of his three friends. After this brief meeting, Fidel and the other three from the food team quietly retraced their steps to exit the school property and Richard, Ronnie, and Camille carried on to search the rest of the school.

Specifically, Ronnie wanted to search the nurse’s office again. During his last excursion to this school, he had only been looking for consumables, medication that would be useful to Dr. Holden and his patients back at the camp. He hadn’t been looking for supplies that might be useful in a surgery. Richard agreed this was a good idea and so the three of them quietly made their way through the deserted halls of the school. In the nurse’s station, they found tongue depressors, sterilization swabs, medical tape, epinephrine pens, and even a small AED kit.

“Ah, good show,” Richard had stated excitedly when he pulled the latter from the cupboard.

“What is that?” Ronnie asked, not recognizing the meaning of the letters on the front of the rounded box kit.

Richard unzipped the unit and pulled out the components to make sure it was all there. “It delivers a measured electric shock to the heart in cases of cardiac arrest,” Richard explained, flicking on the power button and marveling when the control screen came to life. He instantly turned it off again to preserve whatever power it retained. 

“Oh, a defibrillator?” Ronnie asked as Richard snapped the small kit closed again.

“Precisely,” the detective said. “A portable one.”

Next, Richard wanted to check out the science classrooms. He had remembered doing dissections in his school as a boy, so it was possible that they might have some surgical supplies secured somewhere. No such luck. Camille reasoned that perhaps the children at this school were too young to be learning about dissection. They did find several microscopes however, and Richard imagined Holden would very much appreciate being able to examine a blood sample from Trevor under the scope. But the device was just too heavy, and it required electricity to function, so in the end, they had to abandon the idea. The rest of the classroom proved mostly useless apart from a few small items.

They made their way back out to the open, and as Ronnie closed the door to the school, Richard walked up to Camille who stood with her shoulder to a wall, peering around the corner towards the rest of Honoré.

“This is madness,” he heard her say. She was obviously aware of his presence, but without turning to look back at him, she added, “Seems like I’ve just left this place.”

Richard’s heart fell in guilt, but outwardly, he only nodded and squinted out at the bright, sun-baked city. “It’s not too late to turn back,” he said, noticing how she finally turned to look at him. But he refused to meet her gaze. “Catch up with Fidel and the others. They’re weighed down pretty well; would be making pretty slow progress, I shouldn’t wonder.” He finally hazarded a side-eye in her direction. “You shouldn’t have to spend one more second out here,” he said solemnly, his brows furrowed in a way that pleaded for her to accept this offer.

But instead, she reached forward and laid a hand on his cheek. She looked over his face for several seconds, long enough that he began to wonder if this was meant to be her only reply. Then finally, she spoke.

“Would you go back?” is what her lips said, and _“…with me?”_ is what her eyes added.

Richard’s own eyes bounced back and forth between hers, then his gaze fell to her lips for the briefest of moments before dropping to the ground between them. Regretfully, he shook his head, knowing that in doing so, he’d be making her decision.

“Alright,” Camille said, after only a few seconds, and she said it in such a way as to dismiss all remnants of that kind of thought. Her hand dropped from Richard’s cheek in the same moment that Ronnie approached the two of them, and she reached down to check the readiness of her weapon.

“Camille,” Richard began to say quietly, still wishing there was a way for him to convince her to go, but she immediately looked up and started engaging Ronnie.

“Most of the city is built close enough together that people were able to construct bridge systems from rooftop to rooftop. There’re a total of eight of these systems that spider-web to cover most of Honoré. These are the safest ways of navigating around the city because it keeps us off of the ground so we cannot be as easily detected. But, the first system does not start until Eleventh Street, so we’ll have to move carefully. Can you whistle like a bird?”

Ronnie, who had been tracking with all of the information up until this point rather admirably, was noticeably thrown by that last part. After a few puzzled blinks, he eventually nodded. Ronnie dropped his jaw ever so slightly and curled his bottom lip up over his teeth. Then, doing something indescribable with the tip of his tongue and the roof of his mouth, he let out three impressive chirps. At least Richard felt impressed, as it did actually sound quite like a bird. (And for a moment, Richard was left marveling at what an odd life he led now. Suddenly, bird imitations seemed like a survival skill.)

The whistle seemed to impress Camille too, as she smiled at the other man wryly with a little glance at Richard as she confirmed, “That will do it.” She told the men that the plan was to progress single file, as they had with the other group before Fidel led them away. She would go first, followed by Richard, and then Ronnie would bring up the rear. If Ronnie spotted any cryptos from the rear of the party, he was to let out a few chirps and the group would know that they had to move to safety. In which case, the plan was for them to immediately divert to the closest rooftop and attempt to either circumvent or wait out their enemy before progressing forward.

“What do I do if I spot one?” Richard asked, suddenly feeling like his whistle game was regrettably inadequate.

“Well, Ronnie will still be behind you, so you can get his attention visually, and then he can whistle to me,” Camille said. Then, seeing the vaguely dissatisfied look on her boss’ face, she added, “Short of that, you can always try clapping.”

“You cannot whistle?” Ronnie asked, eyeing his friend with a bemused smirk.

“Never really could get the pucker right,” Richard admitted with a pensive shake of the head, not noticing the way that Camille covered her mouth with her hand subtly. “While you are quite adept at producing a sound very much like a bird, mine usually comes out sounding more like…an unusually gusty tea pot.” He puckered his mouth into a loose O and gave a few demonstrative toots before Ronnie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I think the clapping is a good idea, my friend,” Ronnie said, seeming to hold back a laugh.

* * *

True to Camille’s prediction, it was slow work moving deeper into the city to make it to Eleventh Street. They encountered two packs of the cryptos in the span of less than a mile, but by hiding carefully in the bed of a truck for twenty minutes or so, the creatures eventually moved on to a different area and Camille felt confident enough to continue leading her team. When they reached Eleventh Street, Ronnie and Richard worked together to give Camille a boost up the side of a building, then she was able to let down a rickety ladder for the other two to use.

From the aerial view, Richard was able to take in his first clear view of Honoré since he had fled to the mountain all those months ago, and it was depressing. The effects of the cryptos and their constant tunneling were obvious. Many of the buildings were crumbling from their destabilized foundations, like they were slowly and unevenly sinking into the island. Large mounds curled and wound all across the city, like snakes under a bed sheet. There were no signs of humanity left, only shadows of the past: a child’s bicycle, overturned and rusty; 6-month old magazines clipped to a string, hanging in a dusty window; vehicles abandoned in the middle of the street, with the doors still opened.

“It’s disgusting,” Ronnie said, giving voice to all of the group’s thoughts.

“Come on boys,” Camille said after a while. “If it’s medical supplies we need, I have an idea of a place that might not have been looted yet.”

The journey across the rooftops was much easier. It required a certain degree of patience and balance across the makeshift bridges that connected the roofs, but all together, the group could afford to move more quickly from place to place, and with less of a gap between them, which Richard preferred.

It took them the better part of half an hour, but they eventually came to where Camille had been directing them. She stopped at an air conditioning unit on one of the roofs and moved a large wooden sheet that rested against the wall next to the unit. The makeshift covering had been hiding the entrance to some kind of roof-access point. Camille pulled a small flashlight from the bag she carried and shone it into the darkness. Richard crouched next to her and watched as she lowered one of her feet into the hole, using the end of her foot to search out something firm underneath.

“There it is,” she said to Richard, reaching up to grab his hand for stability as she extended her other foot down into the darkness and gingerly lowered herself through the opening. She disappeared for a while, with only the occasional flash of her flashlight indicating her movement. Richard turned and passed a shrugging glance up at Ronnie and all they could do was sit there and wait. Then after the sound of something heavy scraping across the ground, Camille’s head popped up into view again.

“Okay, you can come down,” she said.

Both men were larger than Camille, especially Ronnie, but they eventually figured out how to squeeze both of them through the relatively small opening and down into the structure below. Richard and Ronnie both pulled their own flashlights out and started painting the lights over the walls to build a visual understanding of the layout of the room. They seemed to be in some kind of storage closet, with tall shelves lined with various, nondescript boxes.

“What is this place?” Ronnie asked.

In answer, Camille turned to Richard and asked, “Do you remember when you had that rash on your hand, and I told you that you should see my friend Terry, the dermatologist?”

“I also seem to remember you recommending a dip in ‘holy water,’” Richard mused, while still understanding where Camille was headed with this story.

In the darkness beside him, he could sense Camille rolling her eyes at him. “This is her office.”

“Dermatology? Are you sure a skin doctor will have what we’re looking for?” Ronnie asked in a hushed tone, pulling one of the boxes out from the shelf and peering inside with his flashlight.

“It’s possible,” Richard said, taking his first steps deeper into the room to begin their search. “They sometimes perform minor surgeries. Removing cysts or expressing boils…that sort of thing.” In response, Richard heard Ronnie make a noise that generally conveyed disgust. The big man even shuddered slightly at whatever ooey-gooey image had invaded his mental space. Richard personally tried not to think about those things very hard. The important thing was that minor surgeries were still surgeries, and would require certain tools. With any luck, some of those tools might still be lying around.

The detective inspector moved to the door on the opposite side of the closet. He opened it with minimal resistance, poking his head out to find that a piece of the ceiling had fallen against the door on the other side. He managed to get it open and then turned to find Camille right at his back. Ronnie was still farther back in the storage room, rooting through the boxes.

“Go on without me,” he said. “I want to check these boxes.” As he said this, he brought up a package of sanitary rubber gloves and waved it as explanation.

“Okay, this is our exit point, so we can meet up here before we leave. Let’s say in fifteen minutes?” Camille offered and the others seemed to accept this plan.

Richard and Camille ventured out into the hallway and quickly developed an understanding of the small office and its layout. There was a waiting room that had been cleared of its couches, a reception area that still had its many client files and some abandoned computers. Down a short hallway, there were several examination rooms, and these actually held a wealth of treasures. This was exactly what Richard had hoped to find. After only a few minutes, they had managed to collect several scalpels, forceps, syringes, tweezers, and comedone extractors. They even found several vials of local anesthetic.

“Hello,” Richard said, something catching his eye on the other side of the room. He walked over to a shelf and pulled down a jar. Inside of the jar, floating in a nondescript clear liquid, there was a large, brown, curved mass, about the size of a ping pong ball. It was labeled “Cutaneous Horn.”

“What is that?” Camille asked, even as Richard unscrewed the lid of the jar and carefully took a whiff of it.

Richard snapped the lid closed again, pulling away from it with a shake of his head while his eyebrows lifted high and his eyes closed, as if he was trying to shake his senses clear again. “Well then, that could be useful,” he mumbled.

“Why would we need a…horn?” Camille asked, looking down at the jar with barely concealed disgust.

“A what?” Richard asked, and then seemed to notice the item floating in the jar for the first time. “Oh yes, a horn! Well, in fact, we won’t need the horn, but rather, the substance in which it’s floating. Might prove very useful.”

“Formaldehyde?”

“Ah, you’d think that, but no. In this case, we’ve gotten lucky. It’s not formaldehyde; it’s trichloromethane.” 

Camille just folded her arms and looked at him, waiting for him to explain and remembering how much he did enjoy being the smartest man in the room.

“Otherwise known as chloroform,” he finished unceremoniously. 

“Chloroform. As in, the substance that will instantly knock you out if you inhale it. That is what you just sniffed?”

“That’s right. It once had wide use as an anesthetic before it was discovered to have several poisonous properties, especially to the liver, kidneys, and heart.”

“And that is good news for us how?”

“Well we’ve been needing an anesthetic, haven’t we?” Richard offered a little defensively. As he secured the lid to the jar tightly and lowered it into his pack, he noticed Camille’s lingering look of disapproval. “I realize it’s not ideal. But unless we discover a better alternative on this little excursion, it might be the best we can manage. We can’t afford to pass up even the bad options, just in case.”

Acquiescing to that logic, Camille merely shrugged and the two of them continued in their looting. It was about another five minutes or so before they were heading back to meet up with Ronnie in the supply closet again. Both teams were eager to share their findings, but Camille insisted that they return to the roof before pausing to compare notes. She went first, scurrying through the opening high on the wall and leaving a rather indulgent view of her backside for the two men down below. Richard (almost) immediately diverted his gaze, looking all over the room and then eventually over at Ronnie, who was giving him a subtle and yet loaded smile.

Richard held up a finger to him and said simply, “Don’t.”

Ronnie chuckled at the detective and then moved forward to follow Camille through the exit.

Once they were all surface side, they could finally take inventory of what they had collected. Richard consulted the lists Holden had given him. “I can hardly believe it, but we’re nearly through this. Two-thirds, I’d say. And we’re getting a lot of his first picks too,” Richard said, looking back up from the list.

“This stop was a bit of a goldmine, Camille. Well done,” Ronnie said.

“Yes, well done,” Richard echoed.

Camille bubbled a little at the affirmation and craned her head to look at the list. “So, what are we still missing?”

They ran through the remaining items together and then took some time brainstorming areas of town that might still source them. Ronnie suggested they try his old hardware store next. He didn’t recognize the names of some of the items on Holden’s preferred equipment list, but a lot of the “creative alternatives” were items he remembered carrying at his store. Twilight had already set upon them, but even that was waning, and the group decided that, if they started now, then they could at least make a dent on the journey to the hardware shop before total nightfall.

Camille led the group across the labyrinth of rooftops for another twenty minutes or so. Somewhere along the line, their little order had shuffled and Richard had found himself at the rear of the pack. He didn’t really mind it, however. He found that he preferred the extra bit of concentration it gave him when trying to cross the narrow bridges from roof to roof. There was a part of his mind that had always been divided, conscious of the fact that Ronnie was always waiting just behind him, watching. Knowing that Ronnie was already across the bridge meant that Richard didn’t feel quite as rushed, so he took his time a little more carefully. Ronnie and Camille never ventured too far ahead though, and it wasn’t long before all three of them were met back up with each other, crouching at the edge of one particular roof.

“Why’ve we stopped?” Richard asked, joining the others.

“We’re trying to decide if we should go on for tonight,” Ronnie supplied.

Camille nodded off the edge of the roof, explaining, “This is the end of the first bridge network. To go on from here, we will have to cross some distance on ground level. See that building there? With the blue little window?”

Richard followed the angle of her point and his eyes settled on the building she indicated.

“That’s the start of the next network. Not that far. But it’s still a walk.”

Richard nodded contemplatively. The sleepy sun was painting the horizon in pretty shades of purple, pink, and gold off in the distance. Soon it would be too dark to keep traveling so if they were going to make a run for it, they’d need to do it soon. Richard looked down at the roof beneath his feet. The angle of the roof was sloped and the surface was ridged with clay shingles. If they wanted to get any rest tonight, then they’d have to double back a fair amount to the next flat rooftop.

He looked back up at his compatriots and they both seemed to read his mind. “The next one is flatter,” Camille said.

“What do you think?” he asked Ronnie.

The bigger man shrugged, sweat gleaming off of his dark brow. “I think if we’re doing it, we need to do it fast.”

Camille nodded, “Also, there are no beasts around right now, which might not be the case in the morning.”

Richard nodded at them both. “Sounds like we’re in agreement then.”

Decision made, Camille explained the plan to them, even though they could both guess what she was going to say at this point. “We’ll go one at a time. There’s a rope here, see? I’ll go first and show you how to do it. You’ll want to go fast, but don’t go fast. Keep your movements nice and slow. Calm. Stick close to the buildings. Wait until I’ve climbed all the way up and given you the signal before the next one comes.”

With the plan understood by all, Ronnie and Richard checked and readied their weapons as Camille prepared to move down the rope. Richard followed her to the edge, taking her pack from her while she negotiated the rope. When she was ready to belay herself backward, Richard finally managed to catch her eye.

“Be careful. Please,” he said softly. It was just a placeholder, a substitute for the thing he couldn’t bring himself to say. But he looked at her and tried to make his other plea without words.

Camille said, “Of course,” and flashed him a smile.

Generally, Richard wasn’t a fan of popular cinema, but he recognized that smile all the same. It was exactly the type of smile the self-confident side character always flashed in an adventure film right before the shark flashed up onto the boat and chomped the suddenly-less-self-confident-side character’s leg off. Richard was hardly assured by this. When Camille had lowered herself to the ground, Richard eased her satchel down to her and then she was off.

Richard rejoined Ronnie and the two of them both alternated their attention between watching Camille’s route and keeping an eye out for cryptos. As the world shifted in the transaction between sunlight and moonlight, Richard trained his eyes onto the shifting shadows of St. Marie. He wasn’t sure, at first, if it was just a trick of the light, or if…

No, no that was movement, a distinct bulge in the earth, cracking and rumbling like a torpedo through the road’s pavement, heading straight for her.

“Run Camille! RUN!” Richard hollered as he leapt up from his crouching position and grabbed for the rope. He could hear Ronnie open fire, but he knew his bullets would do nothing to slow the creature down while it was submerged.

Richard landed on the ground unceremoniously and stumbled out onto the street. “OY!” he called, stomping his feet down on the ground emphatically, “Over here!” He saw as Camille reached the building at a full sprint and frantically tried to scale the wall, her feet repeatedly slipping as the creature closed in on her. Richard took off running towards her, his feet slamming onto the ground, trying to make as much noise as possible. He continued to yell and wave his arms, even firing his gun unto the mound of upset earth where the monster had been.

Miraculously, his efforts sort of seemed to work. The ground torpedo appeared to slow slightly and a moment later, the creature was surfacing prematurely, its head coming out of the rubble and craning around in Richard’s direction.

As soon as the crypto’s head was in sight, Richard heard four high caliber shots ring out and the creature slumped over in its hole. Richard’s ears rang from the loud shots and when the sound around him finally cleared, he could make out the edge of Ronnie’s voice hollering at him from the rooftop. “-ard, you idiot! The PACK!” 

Richard turned and got his bearings just in time to see four identical earth torpedoes heading directly for him. The “oh hell,” he murmured to himself was outshined by Camille’s shriek behind him, “RUN RICHARD!”

His blood started pounding in his ears as he took off running again, this time forgoing sound for speed. He felt as though his feet were barely having time to touch the ground before he was pushing off of it again, and the breath in his lungs felt as though it could barely keep up. He wasn’t sure how close they were behind him, but he was damned if he would turn to check now.

Richard reached the building where Camille had gone, vaguely registering the fact that she was reaching a hand down towards him. But he just chucked his gun and his satchel up onto her rooftop and then kept running past. He had seen the struggle she had had scaling that front wall, and he knew she was far more athletic than he. If Richard was going to be climbing for his life, he needed an access point that would be a little more hospitable.

He kept running past Camille’s building, then past another, until he found one that had an industrial sized garbage container alongside one exterior wall. Richard could hear the beasts surfacing behind him, and the proximity of their snarls made him run a little faster. Richard bounded up onto the hood of a car and from there, he leapt onto the dumpster, jumping up to grab hold of the edge of the rooftop and straining to hoist himself upward. His arms rebelled, claiming not to have the strength, but he didn’t let them quit.

He heard two more shots ring out from somewhere behind him and was mortified when he felt the ungodly weight of one of the cryptos sag against his leg. His eyes dilating in fear, Richard used the dead beast’s body as a stepping stone to launch himself just a little further up the wall. That minimal distance was enough for his arms to work past the peak of their strain and he was able to pull himself up enough to hoist one leg over the ledge of the roof.

Richard felt another crypto close its jaws around his other foot and his head yanked back with a scream. His knuckles blanched white as he fought to maintain his grip with dogged resolution, battling against a heavy weight that pulled him towards the ground. The creature gave a vicious yank and Richard was screaming again. Then the volume of his own voice was rapidly swallowed by another sharp echo of a third barrage of bullets. He felt the jaws and their horrible weight release him and Richard somehow pulled himself over the ledge, crashing down onto the roof’s surface with all the grace of a birthed giraffe. Richard rolled onto his back, hand dropping onto his heart, and laid there, gasping for breath, his unbelieving eyes staring up at the newly revealed starscape above him.

It was several long minutes of panting, and Richard even came to a panic, wondering if he might be experiencing a heart attack because he could not seem to lower his heart rate, no matter how many breaths he gulped. But eventually, he was able to calm down. He lifted his head to look down at his foot, which seemed to be throbbing with a heartbeat of its own. As he pushed on his elbows to rise into a sort of sitting position, he heard activity elsewhere on his roof.

Camille and Ronnie suddenly appeared, and as Camille crashed into him, he managed to register that the roof he picked must have been part of the new network of bridges. He briefly had the thought, “Doesn’t explain how Ronnie got here,” but he quickly forgot to wonder about this more, because Camille was peppering his face with kisses. First over his cheek, then up to his forehead, then down his nose, then across his eye, all the while, calling him a stupid, irresponsible, reckless, and then stupid again, man!

“Camille! Camille, I’m fine.”

But she just pulled him into a hug that was somewhere between affection and strangulation. Richard choked and patted her back reassuringly in an effort to get her to let go of him. And he finally got sight of Ronnie, who was doubled over a few feet away, with his hands on his knees.

The other man looked at him, winded. “So you just decided, ‘no’ to the clapping plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for reading! I am really curious to know what you thought of this chapter, as I have always thought it was maybe just a hint too long. Trouble is, I really wanted to end on that line from Ronnie, and there were a number of things that needed to happen before Richard got injured by the crypto. So as a result, the chapter ended up being wordier than I would usually allow. My beta assured me this wouldn't be a problem, so I trusted her judgement and left everything in. But I am curious, what did you think of this chapter?


	10. Hopes can be vicious things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for being late with this update. Something else needed my attention yesterday evening, and I just didn't have the time to get this chapter posted. I appreciate your patience. And won't ask for any more of it right now.
> 
> On to the story!

Chapter Ten: Hopes can be vicious things

It amazed Richard, the difference in temperature between a night spent in the caves of Mt. Esme and a night spent on an open rooftop in Honoré. Long after the sun had gone down, the heat from it still lingered. He remembered shivering most nights in that damp cave, but out here, he was working up a steady sweat. Though part of that might have to do with the pain.

“Try to hold still,” Camille said, gingerly pulling his foot out of his boot. Ronnie and Camille actually had to unlace the entire shoe and pull the tongue out as far as possible before they could get Richard’s swollen foot out of the boot. Richard winced against the pain, pinching his eyes tightly shut and holding his breath until he felt his foot spring free.

Ronnie lit his flashlight and shone it on Richard’s foot as Camille delicately removed his sock. There were bold puncture marks across Richard’s foot, about a half dozen of them, and they had interesting shapes, unlike any teeth marks he had ever seen. In a rare moment of curiosity outweighing squeamishness, Richard sat forward to examine his own foot. There wasn’t much blood, to be honest he would have expected more, but it was bruising deeply, and the swelling that had set in made it look as though it belonged to a man three times Richard’s size. He could already tell that putting pressure on it when the time came was not likely to be much fun. The bottom of his foot had been protected by the thick soles of the work boots Mrs. Beecher had given him, but the top of his foot had not been as well guarded.

Ronnie and Camille worked together to find items in their rather extensive medical collection that might be able to help, ignoring Richard’s warning to use them sparingly. Ronnie found some sterilizing wipes and cleaned the wound, then Camille was able to suture the two gashes that were the deepest and which were bleeding the most. When that was finished, Ronnie sterilized all of the smaller wounds before wrapping the foot in some gauze and tying it off with Richard’s own sock. They used an abandoned cinderblock and got Richard in a comfortable position where he could sleep with his leg elevated. For his part, Richard accepted all of these ministrations with limited complaint, just the occasional twinge or gasp. The suture part was the hardest…the alcohol wipes were pretty bad too. In the end, he thought he made it through without appearing to be too much of a wimp. He wondered if Camille noticed.

“Comfortable?” Ronnie asked, once Richard was settled and the kit was all put away.

“Quite,” the detective answered, sitting up slightly and peering around Camille to see what she was doing. She had apparently pulled a few cans from her satchel and was peeling away the top tabs from them. Then she produced three silver spoons as well.

“Gentlemen, dinner is served,” she said.

“Splendid, what’s on the menu?” Ronnie asked as he settled down across from them.

“I’m glad you asked. Tonight, we have a feast of delights. Including baked beans as our appetizer…a main course of spaghetti and meatballs, by the acclaimed Chef Boyardee…and finally, for dessert, a delicious fruit cocktail.” As she spoke, Camille lifted each respective can into view, displaying the label with a flourish of her hand. And Richard could be mistaken, but he believed he also detected just the hint of exaggeration to her ordinary French accent. He fought to keep back a smile.

“Ah well,” Ronnie said leaning forward and grabbing one of the cans. “If it’s all the same to you two, I think I’ll have a go at those beans to start.”

Camille looked down at Richard, reclined closely by her side. “And you?” she asked softly.

Richard gazed up at her, the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take the dessert.”

Camille gave an approving hum, “Good choice,” and reached forward to grab it for him, also taking the spaghetti for herself.

They were having fun with it now, but the truth was, it actually _was_ a pretty splendid meal. Most of the time, Richard restricted himself to one meal a day anyway, and his meal usually consisted of little more than a fruit, some boiled palm core, and maybe some nuts. Having a meal with this much variety in flavor was actually an indulgence, but considering the day they had all had, he thought it a reasonable splurge. Plus, whatever they were able to eat out of their satchels now meant more carrying room for their continued supply search tomorrow. So they all happily tucked in and enjoyed this rare extravagance.

“So, you two met at work?” Ronnie asked early in the meal, reaching his can out to Camille to swap.

She hummed an affirmative sound and then said, “Yes, he impeded an investigation of mine.”

“Ah, I did no such thing!” Richard objected, jabbing his spoon back into his fruit cocktail. “I arrested her under suspicion that she was tied to an investigation of _mine_. A suspicion that proved to be correct, mind you.”

“ _Correct_?” Camille repeated righteously.

Richard shrugged like it was semantics, digging in his can to avoid the cherries, which started to spark an even bigger reaction out of Camille before Ronnie interjected.

“Okay okay,” the big man laughed, gesturing with his can and spoon in a way that told them both to calm down. “That sounds like a long story.” He was still chuckling as he lifted a spoonful of pasta into his mouth. “So…” he said between chews. “How long was it then before you two started-”

Richard choked at that moment on a skinless grape. He lurched forward and coughed into his wrist, all the while trying to give Ronnie a look that might encourage him not to finish that question. Camille simply patted his back comfortingly and handed him her canteen to have a sip of water.

“Before we started working together?” Camille asked innocently, ignoring the questioning look Richard was casting her as he took a drink. “Not long. Pretty much immediately in fact. Our cases overlapped, and once they were solved, the Police Commissioner kept us both on as permanent assignment.”

As Camille returned to her can of beans dismissively, Ronnie nodded at her, an expression of coy understanding on his face. The inspector’s momentary coughing fit seemed to be under control now, and a silence fell over the group, Ronnie’s attempt at a conversation starter effectively killed off.

“So, tell me about your plan,” Camille said a moment later, trading the can of beans with Richard and taking the assaulting fruit cocktail away from him.

“Plan?” he repeated dimly.

“To get off the island,” Camille explained with a nod.

The two men exchanged a look. “There is no plan,” Richard said at last.

Camille seemed stunned at this answer, looking back and forth between them a few times, as if expecting one of them to laugh it off and say “Gotcha!” When the joke never came, she slowly lowered her can. “You have no plan?”

“Well, our plan is to survive. Wait it out until rescue,” Richard supplied.

“But…that could take ages. Surely it would be better to make it to the harbor and…”

“Where would we go?” Ronnie asked.

“Guadalupe, obviously.”

Again, the two men shared a look. “You mean, you’ve not heard,” Richard said hesitantly. It hadn’t really occurred to Richard, although it made sense in hindsight, that not all of the survivors on the island would have the same amount of information. At Camille’s curious stare and subsequent hike of one shoulder, Richard set down his can and delicately said, “Guadalupe is the same story. The cryptos have surfaced there as well. All over the Caribbean, in fact.”

Camille’s mouth hung open as she heard the news.

“And parts of South America,” Ronnie added regretfully.

“Even if we _could_ reach the harbor (and with our numbers of sick and injured, that’d be a fair feat), and even _if_ there was a vessel there big enough to carry and sustain a group of our size…we’d have nowhere to go. The boats we can dock here on St. Marie are not built for long voyages. Our fuel would likely run out before we would make it somewhere safe. And the island, though dangerous, has more sustaining resources than the open sea. So…our plan is to stay put.”

Camille was silent for a little while, then, “I…I had no idea it was that widespread. I thought it was just our island.”

Richard looked over at Ronnie, and they shared the same stomach-churning expression. It was one thing to struggle through a hopeless circumstance; it was another thing entirely to be the one to steal another person’s hope.

“But rescue will come,” Richard said, trying to sound hopeful. “Leave it to the Americans. They’ll not want a bunch of those nasty things plaguing their seas. They’ll want this mess sorted out first thing. All we have to do is sit tight and wait our turn; they’ll get to St. Marie eventually.”

Camille’s silence stretched out, and Richard was close to wondering if she had tuned him out altogether. Then she inhaled suddenly and asked. “What did you call them?”

“The…Americans?”

“No, no the creatures, earlier. You had a name for them.”

“Oh, Cryptos. That’s what I call them,” Richard answered, hastily explaining, “Crypto-terrestrials. Meaning of the earth, but not understood. When the news first started reporting the story, they called them ‘extra-terrestrials,’ like they were from outer space or some nonsense. But they’re hardly that. No, so I uh, took to calling them Crypto-terrestrials. Or…cryptos for short.”

“Killer name,” Ronnie said, lifting his can like a salute. “It’s really catching on. I hear people around camp calling them that now.”

But Richard didn’t feel congratulated. He was still worried about Camille. After a moment, his concerns were proven valid when she said, “So, we do nothing? Just sit back and wait?”

Richard set down his can. He suddenly didn’t feel much like eating. Camille’s eyes landed on the abandoned can and she added, “What happens when the food runs out?”

Richard sighed and reached out to take her can from her, depositing it on the roof floor and closing her hand within his own. “That won’t happen. Rescue will come before then.”

But Camille didn’t look convinced. Silence fell over the group again, and then after a short while, Camille stole her hand back, stood, and walked away from the others, going to stand by the edge of the roof and stare out over the city of Honoré. Richard watched her go, wishing that his foot was not rubbish so that he could follow her.

“Give her some time,” Ronnie said, having read his friend’s expression. “We all went through it. She just needs a moment to let it sink in.”

Richard nodded absently. Ronnie was right, no doubt. But he still wished he could go to her, wished he had the perfect thing to say.

Trapped with nothing better to do, Richard sat with Ronnie and the two of them polished off the fruit cocktail and spaghetti. The beans, which had the most left in the can, they silently agreed to leave for Camille. Richard kept casting not-so-subtle glances over at the woman at the far end of the rooftop. She looked both tragic and noble, bathed in moonlight and looking out over her ruined city with a posture of gentle pensiveness. Under normal circumstances, the dilapidated rooftop, with spare shingles, rocks, and debris strewn around, wouldn’t be a particularly beautiful sight, but Richard had to admit that Camille had a way of making things lovely. He found he couldn’t easily look away.

“Now, my friend,” Ronnie’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “Are you finally going to tell me who she is?” 

“Sorry? You know who she is,” Richard replied with a furrowed brow.

Ronnie fixed him with a pointed stare and Richard suddenly flashed back to his school days, when he was about to be told off by Sister Benedict. “Don’t play dumb, Inspector. It’s a look you can’t pull off.”

“Hmm,” Richard mused, his eyes shifting over to the woman once again. “Some would argue with you there,” he said with the tilt of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as if sharing a private joke with his partner.

“There, see?” Ronnie said, pointing at the detective like he just caught him red-handed. “There is something there. The way you look at her, I can tell.”

Smile dropped, Richard shrugged and shook his head, mouth opening to give an explanation he didn’t have.

“Why is it you’ve never mentioned her?” Ronnie asked, a slight pang of hurt in his tone.

Richard looked up at that. He had been expecting teasing, expected some kind of ridicule that would draw attention to Richard’s hopeless lack of “game” when it came to the fairer sex. In truth, that was the direction all of these types of conversations with other males seemed to take in Richard’s experience, some school yard ribbing about how Richard didn’t stack up, wasn’t “man enough” to handle a woman like Camille.

That is what Richard expected. But all he saw when he looked up at Ronnie was the imploring expression of a good friend. None of the hostile mirth. None of the vulgar degradation. Just…confusion, and maybe a hint of disappointment too.

“We all have loved ones out there still,” Ronnie elaborated. “Booker and I have spoken to you about ours many times. I have known you, worked alongside you for months now, taking care of all those people, and you never even mentioned that you had somebody-”

“I couldn’t,” Richard confessed deeply, his voice even surprising himself. He cast another look over at Camille, this time to make sure she was keeping her distance. He craned his neck forward and down, looking like a guilty canine, feeling the weight of what he was about to reveal press in around him. “I couldn’t talk about her. I…couldn’t even think about her. I said her name _one_ time and it almost broke me.” Richard kept his voice low and his eyes lower. He didn’t dare look over at her now. “To go all of that time, and not even know if she was…” Richard cut himself short. Just speaking the words was bringing back memory of that torment; it was almost like she was gone again, and his insides filled with that anxiety and sickness he thought he had passed.

He snuck a glance up and saw that Ronnie was nodding, like he understood…which of course, he didn’t. Ronnie’s wife and four children were all tucked away, safe and sound in the cave. The loved ones he spoke of were his father and sister-in-law, so it wasn’t exactly the same thing. Still, seeing that nod from his friend was strangely comforting to Richard, and he knew that weighing grief against grief was always a pointless exercise.

“And anyway, we aren’t even-”

“Official?” Ronnie finished with a knowing smile. “Yeah, I could tell that too…”

Richard sighed and found his gaze returning to her, bolstered somewhat by the lack of condemnation from his friend. “I don’t even know what we are, to be honest,” he said quietly, not knowing where these confessions were coming from, but somehow powerless to restrain them now. “Something’s changed, but I don’t know what. We don’t seem to be where we left off. But it sort of seems I don’t know which way’s up anymore.”

“Well let me help you out, Inspector,” Ronnie said matter-of-factly, causing Richard to look back at the other man. “Earlier, when you were holding her hand, looking at her like she hung this moon we’re under…that was up.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as they did when he scrutinized a piece of evidence.

“And,” added Ronnie pointedly. “When you almost died and she threw herself on top of you, slapping kisses all over that chalky white face of yours, that was probably a clue too.” Ronnie laughed a deep and resounding chuckle, and Richard felt heat rise to his cheeks.

The sheepish detective swallowed and looked back over to the subject of their discussion, and he felt a little whirlwind flutter around in his stomach. Perhaps Ronnie was right. Perhaps there was something beginning now with Camille, something actually attainable. As soon as Richard had the thought, he felt a surge of warning from the back of his mind. _‘Be careful, Poole,’_ the voice said. _‘You know how hopes can be vicious things.’_

“Well,” Ronnie said, in a distinct shift in tone that told Richard the personal talk was over. There was a part of Richard (a significant part) that felt relieved. “We should probably have a look out. Go on, you should get some sleep. I’ll go tell Camille that I’ll take first watch.”

Ronnie gathered his rifle and then got up to leave, but before he could go, Richard felt he needed to say something. “I’m sorry…that I never told you. I should have.”

The tall man paused and looked down at him. “I am sorry for that too. If I had known, I could have been a better friend to you.”

Richard smirked a little at that. “Well, you’re being a first class one now,” he said and reached out his hand to him.

Ronnie shook it with a nod and then walked away.

Left by his lonesome, Richard took this opportunity to reevaluate his foot. It had been painful, keeping it elevated through dinner, and when he gingerly lifted his leg off of the cinderblock, his knee punished him for teetering on the edge of hyperextension all that time. With no one around to see it, he allowed himself an unadulterated wince and a “bloody hell” for good measure.

The color was a bit hard to see in the moonlight, but he was pretty certain that the swelling had already started to go down a little. That had to be a good sign. Bending his cranky knee, he reached forward and tried to grasp his toes. They felt cold, and they gave a twinge of pain when he tried to squeeze them, but otherwise, they seemed relatively normal. His hand wandered down to check his heel and he was relieved to discover that it felt perfectly fine. Richard knew that the real kicker (for lack of a better word) would be the middle of his foot. That’s where the crypto had managed to pierce through boot and skin and latch onto him. And when the beast gave that nasty shake of its head, Richard knew he had felt something break. Barely wanting to even try, Richard gently reached timid fingers around the bottom of his foot and experimentally prodded against the pad. A sharp, spine-jolting pain shot through his leg and Richard held his breath not to scream. Yep…definitely broken.

Richard had a sinking feeling in his chest then, his mind’s eye racing across the route that had brought him here. He remembered the balance required to get from ledge to ledge. He remembered the climbing up and down from the rooftops, the occasional bouts of running, and then the gradually-increasing slope of the climb back up the mountain. Richard looked at his foot, a grim realization creeping onto his face.

“How is it?”

Richard looked up at the sound of Camille’s voice. “Good, good,” he answered hastily. “Well, not great. But good. Swelling’s gone down a bit, I think. Which is…good.”

Richard suspected he wasn’t exactly selling it, so he decided he should try to change the subject. “But uh…how ar-”

“I’m fine,” Camille declared, in a way that didn’t really sell it either.

Richard nodded haltingly, watching her not look at him. He didn’t like that.

Needing another change of subject, apparently, Richard reached over and retrieved the can of unfinished beans, lifting them up to his partner, hoping to coax her to sit down. “These were left over,” he said.

Camille hesitated a moment and then took the can from him. She sat down and stared into the darkness of the can to spoon out a bite.

Richard had told her, once, that he was incapable of reading her mind, although now he would wager that he could make a pretty good guess. It was obvious that, before their conversation over dinner, Camille hadn’t really known exactly how hopeless their situation was. Based on what she had said, it was also clear that she had expected him to have some sort of brilliant plan for how to get them off of the island. But now, any high hopes she had been nursing up until this point were properly dashed, as crumbled and cracked as the streets of Honoré.

Internally, Richard rebuked himself for disappointing her.

Silence passed between them while she ate and he searched for something to say. He needed to say _something_. Offer his apologies, or somehow restore some of the hope he had shot from her skies. But words, as they did in practically every tender moment, evaded him. It wasn’t long before Camille had polished off the last morsel from her can and was turning to position her satchel behind her as a pillow. Resigning himself to the fact that, despite a somewhat productive conversation with Ronnie, he was still rubbish at feelings, Richard too turned his attention to preparing his space for sleeping.

Using his healthy foot, Richard pushed the cinder block away, knowing that he couldn’t get through an entire night with his injured leg elevated and his knee hyperextended. Plus, Holden wasn’t there to yell at him for it. Looking to his side, Richard felt a tinge of disappointment as Camille settled herself down for the night, lying on her side, with her back to him.

Richard too laid back against his satchel, the Caribbean stars blinking down at him like a billion pinpricks through an endless, black curtain. He listened for the usual island sounds: deadly tree frogs chirping in the trees, crickets and locusts battling in volume, waves in the distance…but all of these were harder to hear than usual, overshadowed by the dull, hissing breath of the cryptos camped out at the base of their building. It was something between the sound of dragging an anvil across asphalt, and the sound Richard’s television made when it was in between the good stations. He could hear it from all around him, and he got the impression that other families of cryptos had joined the few that had chased Richard up this building. The noise of the creatures had always been unsettling to him, but hearing it in these numbers was downright nerve-wracking. He found himself grateful for their little rooftop sanctuary, an island of a different kind.

Richard turned himself over to his side, slow and careful with the positioning of his foot. He tugged the satchel up under his head, crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed, wondering if Camille’s many nights on these rooftops had made her very skilled at drowning out the beasts’ dreadful voices. With eyes pinched shut, Richard tried his best to fall asleep. But his eyes sprang open again a few minutes later, when he felt a soft poke at his shoulder.

Richard rolled onto his back and turned his head, coming face to face with Camille. He looked fixedly at the reflection of the moon in her gaze, a full orb bowed into a crescent over the slope of her beautiful brown eyes. When a few seconds had ticked by without her saying anything, Richard lifted an arm above his head, an experiment of invitation, and Camille wordlessly snuggled herself into his side.

Dropping his hand to close around her shoulder, the noise of the night seemed to fade away as one crystal clear thought presently materialized: they would be alright. She was with him, and everything would be alright.

Richard closed his eyes and smirked contentedly. God, but he was becoming such a sap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Hope you guys enjoyed it! I have loved seeing your comments on this story. You are such thoughtful readers and the little details you guys notice always impress me. So keep those comments coming! I love it!


	11. Separation Anxiety

Chapter Eleven: Separation Anxiety

“Well that hardly seems fair,” Richard complained, but his companions did nothing to stop what they were doing. They practically ignored him while they consulted each other on what they should bring on the next leg of their journey through Honoré and what they should leave behind. Considering the fact that Richard Poole had somehow come to belong to that latter category, he was a bit chafed.

“I’ll not have the two of you risking it alone,” he insisted from his place on the floor.

“What do you want us to do, Richard?” Ronnie asked, unloading some of the gauze and rubber gloves from his pack. “Carry you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll walk,” the Detective Inspector straightened his spine, an air of respectability in his delivery.

The others shared a skeptical glance, then, “Whoops!” Camille said, sending her canteen flying out of her hand and skidding across the rooftop floor.

Richard watched the noisy object finally come to a stop some ten feet away from him.

“I can be so clumsy sometimes,” Camille said, sticking a hand to her hip and shaking her head. “Richard, would you mind grabbing that for me?”

Richard looked at her condemningly, unimpressed by her little charade. Then he looked over at the canteen. Ten feet suddenly felt more like fifty. Suppressing a gulp, Richard moved to get up, pulling his good foot up underneath himself and negotiating his hand on the floor, trying to figure out the best way of doing this. He rolled onto his hands and knee, his injured leg still straight out behind him. With his back towards the others now, he held his breath and pinched his eyes against the pain, his broken foot screaming curses at him. And that’s…as far as he got.

He felt two hands on his shoulder, urging him back into a sitting position. “Oh stop it, you oaf,” Camille chastised and Richard released the breath he had been holding. “You are obviously in pain and in no condition to walk.”

“That foot needs rest,” Ronnie observed, retrieving Camille’s canteen and then approaching the two of them. He held out something to Richard. A pill.

“That’s for Trevor,” Richard noted, cranky.

“No, _that’s_ for Trevor,” Ronnie nodded back towards the remaining medical supplies. “This is for you.”

The detective opened his mouth to present another brilliant argument, but was cut off by the woman crouched at his side. “Just shut up and take it.”

Richard pursed his lips together with a little huff and reached up to take the pill, willfully ignoring the way Ronnie was suppressing a laugh.

Richard swallowed the pill dry, refusing the canteen the other man offered him. Ronnie cast one more look at Camille and then went to return to his business with the pack.

“It’s not that far to the hardware store from here, and it’s all rooftops. He and I should be able to make it there and back again with no trouble,” Camille explained more softly, bringing up a finger to trail down the side of Richard’s beard, a gesture which instantly worked to relax him. “We almost have completed the list anyway, so we shouldn’t be that long…You will be fine here until we get back, yes?”

“ _I’ll_ be fine; it’s not me I’m worried about,” Richard stressed, casting her a grumpy side-eye. His foul mood tried to hold on stubbornly, in spite of being slightly assuaged by the way she was twirling her finger in little cyclones along his sideburn.

“We’ll be fine,” she assured him, smiling now, like she could tell the effect she was having on him. He was slipping into a fog.

“And if it makes you feel any better,” Ronnie’s voice boomed, unaware of what he was interrupting. (Though truth be told, Richard wasn’t altogether aware of what exactly it was himself.) “You won’t be without your uses here.”

Richard looked up, his brain a little slow to comprehend what Ronnie was telling him.

“After all,” he continued. “If Camille and I are about to load up these packs again with things from my shop, then we’ll be needing a better way of consolidating all of this for transport back to camp.” As he spoke, he indicated the handsome pile of loot at his feet.

“Great idea,” Camille said, withdrawing her hand and consequently restoring some of the blood flow to Richard’s brain. Her movements continued to withdraw as she stood up beside him, leaving Richard feeling a rather heavy absence hovering by his shoulder.

“You work out how to pack these tighter, and Ronnie and I will just be gone for, what would you say? Two hours?” she asked this to Ronnie, and the man turned to shield his eyes against the beam of the low, morning sun.

“I should guess so,” he answered.

“And it’s up on the bridge network the whole time?” Richard asked. He already knew this was the case; Camille had established in numerous times already…but he just…needed to hear it again.

“The whole time,” she repeated.

“I would say, Richard,” Ronnie began, walking over to a certain spot on the roof, looking down at his feet thoughtfully. He glanced up at the sky again and then back down to his shoes. He nudged a broken brick with his foot and positioned it carefully. “I would say that it should take about four…maybe five hours for that shadow to get back to this point.” Ronnie pointed at the long shadow cast by the rooftop’s edge, then back to his little brick. “What do you reckon?”

Richard sat up a little straighter to get a better look at the distance. “Four or five sounds right,” the inspector conceded.

“Right, so. We should be back in two or three hours. So, if the shadow reaches that brick before either of us is back…”

Richard and Camille shared a heavy glance.

“…Then I’d say there was trouble. It would be up to you to get these supplies back to Holden,” Ronnie finished, looking to Richard for some kind of assurance.

Though made highly uncomfortable by the idea of either Ronnie or Camille encountering ‘trouble’ out there, and also while feeling a little skeptical of his own ability at the present, Richard understood the urgency with which these medical supplies were required back at camp. So, after stealing himself a little, Richard eventually nodded curtly. “I can do that,” he said.

Without much more conversation, Camille and Ronnie gathered up their now empty packs. They moved the medical supplies closer to Richard to save him from having to move around a lot during his reorganizing, and then it was time to go.

Camille bent and embraced Richard in a warm hug, and the Englishman found himself flashing back. It was like that moment in the cave all over again, when he finally wrapped his arms around her for the first time in months. In his head, all he had been thinking in that moment was “Never again. I can’t be without her ever again.” And yet here he was, about to be without her.

Camille made to pull away, but Richard held on, so she settled in a little more and let the hug continue.

“You have to be careful,” Richard stressed through tense teeth. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he heard her say over his shoulder. “Ronnie will have my back.”

At that, Richard glanced up at his friend, who was waiting patiently while the pair had their moment. Ronnie gave him a small, confirming nod, which Richard subtly returned.

“And you have his,” the inspector replied, finally letting her pull away.

“I will,” Camille promised. Before rising to her feet, she kissed the top of his head, and Richard’s eyes slipped shut at the feeling. “Be safe,” she told him.

“You too,” he answered, then louder, “Both of you.”

Ronnie replied with a salute, “Yes sir, DI Poole, sir.”

Richard watched them unblinkingly as they stepped up onto the rooftop bridge and carefully made their way across. He kept watching them as they went from that roof to the next. And then the one after that. It was probably close to ten minutes before they dipped out of sight and Richard finally let his gaze drop.

He forced himself to think of Trevor, sick and dying on his little mat, tucked away in a dark cave far away from here. The boy was barely 19, and should have his whole life ahead of him.

“Worth it, Richard,” the man told himself, trying to believe it. “This was the right choice.”

Then Richard did the thing he had been working to perfect for the last three months: he put Camille Bordey from his mind and focused on something else. Or, at least, he tried to. He had to admit, it was much harder to do this time. He tried to focus on the task at hand, namely, consolidating their medical supplies for easy carrying, as well as in anticipation of their incoming acquisitions from Ronnie’s hardware store. Whenever he would hear a sound in the distance that would make him look up expectantly, only to be disappointed to find no one there, Richard had a handful of mantras he would rely on in response.

“She’ll be fine, she’s fully capable.”

“Ronnie is with her.”

“They are keeping to the bridges.”

“She knows this city like the back of her hand.”

“They’re both fantastic shots.”

“She promised she’d be careful.”

That last one was always the most questionable in his mind and usually brought with it the least amount of comfort. After serving on the Honoré Police Force with her now for a number of years, Richard knew that his partner was more of a “leap and a net will appear” type of personality, whereas his attitude was more like “Carefully consider all other options, like a rope, or a ladder possibly. And if that fails, erect a net for yourself, calculating an adequate distance off of the ground to absorb the full impact of your body weight times the length of your fall, and triple check the rigging at all four corners. Then, in favorable weather, a carefully angled leap would not be out of the question.”

Time wore on, with Richard periodically glancing back at the shadow, and he made good work of the supplies. A lot of the things they had collected from the dermatologist were in boxes or some other form of packaging. Probably, these items were packaged this way for a reason (like sterilization), but in this case, Richard would classify himself and his company as beggars rather than choosers, so he popped the packages open and combined as many of the contents into his pockets as possible. Before this moment, he hadn’t really appreciated just how many pockets these cargo pants had, but he now found himself appreciating the design. He was able to get a lot of the small and medium-sized supplies onto his person, and for the larger ones, he cracked open the AED case and was able to squeeze a few more items into it along the edges.

Intellectually, he found the project quite stimulating. It made him feel like he was working on one of his old jigsaws again. It was just the right sort of distraction to keep him from looking over at the shadow every few seconds. Physically, however, it was taking a certain toll on him. Sometime around the start of the second hour, Richard had finally done as much as he could sitting down and was forced to find a way to get himself standing. The only way Richard had found to do this involved a prolonged period of rather undignified crawling until he could reach the edge of the rooftop and use the ledge to hoist himself up, almost like climbing out of a pool. Once standing, he was able to do a sort of half-step/half-hop thing that successfully carried him back to his project where he would continue working.

The throbbing in his foot built the longer he was standing, though he put little pressure on it. Richard tried his best to ignore this, focusing instead on Trevor (who was a hell of a lot worse), and his puzzle (which was a hell of a lot more fun). By the time Richard had to finally admit defeat, that there was nothing else he could do to combine one supply with another, to save even a centimeter more of space, he felt utterly winded and like he needed to sit down before he fell down.

Hobbling back over to the ledge, Richard perched himself onto the edge and gingerly hoisted his leg up to stretch out beside him. Some of the throbbing started to abate the moment he did so, and Richard sighed with relief. He had brought his canteen with him to the ledge and took a conservative sip, trying to replenish the moisture he was now losing through the profuse amount of sweat dripping down his face. Here on the rooftops of Honoré, he was completely unprotected from the hot Caribbean sun, and it was beginning to take its toll. He wished he still had his hanky. 

Allowing himself one more, tiny sip, Richard let his gaze slide over to the creeping shadow once again. The line of the shadow was stalking ever closer to the brick, now only about two and a half feet away, and Richard felt something tighten in his gut, a mounting sense of worry he had been eager to suppress while he worked on his puzzle. Now, with the puzzle aside, there was little else to occupy his mind.

Turning to look out at the city, Richard’s keen eyes scrutinized the rooftops as far as his vision could reach, searching for any signs of his compatriots. When he discovered nothing, he let his eyes glance downward, taking in the sight of the ghost town below him. Despite himself, he did feel a sense of righteous anger at the loss of this once beautiful city. The same blind outrage that had caused Dwayne to leap in front of a crypto just so he’d have the chance to kill it was now brewing inside of Richard, though to a different level, obviously.

After all, Richard had resisted the tendency to think of this place as home for many years. But in truth, it was home. He hated the heat, he hated the sand, and he hated the general sense of lethargy that seemed to keep the whole island in some psychedelic, lackadaisical haze. But in moments of weakness, Richard still found himself thinking of this place as “his island.” It was hard, after all, to be a public servant without coming to care something for the community you were serving. He often still felt like the odd one out, the lone cup of tea on a tray of margaritas, bottles of rum, and strawed coconuts, but over time, he came to care a great deal for the tray as a whole, even growing protective of it. So to see the whole city of Honoré overrun by those creatures really was upsetting. He had told Dwayne that he’d overreacted (which he had, to be sure), but looking out over that once vibrant and whimsical city and seeing only the ghost it left behind, yeah…Richard could see his point of view. 

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Honoré was crawling with the beasts. There were several cryptos he could make out from his vantage point that very moment, some stalking the streets, nuzzling through the rubble like a pack of mangy street dogs (except much larger). Others were moving underground, evidence of their journeys sometimes bumping up the city floor like the tunnel of a gopher (except…much larger). And once again, Richard found himself cringing at the wheezy, rumbly sound of their churning breaths. It was easily his second least favorite thing about them, after their disregard for human life. And the fact that they sounded uglier than they looked was quite the feat, by Richard’s estimation.

_BANG!_ An explosion rumbled somewhere in the distance, followed by sporadic gunfire, making Richard jump in shock and then yank his eyes back out over the city. He scanned the area where Camille and Ronnie should be right now, and saw nothing. Then, looking a little to the north, Richard saw it, a billow of smoke rising out of the city and into the sky. The explosion had certainly come from there, but it couldn’t have been from Camille or Ronnie. It was completely the wrong side of town, and much too far away. But it had to be someone. Some other group of survivors, and they seemed to be fighting back.

The gunfire continued in unregulated furies. As a police officer, Richard’s instincts were to run towards gunfire, but that was obviously out of the question. Instead, he simply stood, shielded his eyes against the sun, and watched. Several of the cyptos that had been occupying Richard’s general vicinity all seemed to be curious of the noise as well, and they dived down into the earth in speedy chase. For a moment, Richard considered pulling out his weapon and attempting to take a few of them out before they could join the attack against whoever those poor sods were in the distance, but Richard wondered how low his ammunition was getting. He pulled out his weapon and took aim anyway, but that simple moment of hesitation was enough to make the decision for him as the cryptos made their escape.

The firing continued in the distance, and Richard strained his ears to guess how many weapons he was hearing. It was impossible to say precisely, but Richard felt it had to be close to ten.

Bang! Bang-bang-bang! Bang-bang! _BANG!_ Bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang! _BANG!_

Then, after a few minutes, that number seemed to dwindle to half its original size.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang! Bang! Bang!

Until finally…

Bang! ...Bang-bang! ….Bang!.............

Richard closed his eyes as the interval drew on, releasing a small sigh. The smoke in the distance wafted further upward into the sky, the only remaining evidence of that short-lived, last hurrah. He wondered how many they had managed to take with them.

Carefully, Richard holstered his weapon and then lowered himself to the ground, sinking against the rooftop ledge and feeling utterly defeated. It hadn’t even been his battle, and he felt he had lost. His good knee bent up against his chest, Richard propped one elbow up on it and let his hand fold over his eyes. And it was in that position that he stayed.

* * *

Richard wasn’t sure how long had passed, he didn’t have a good look at the shadow anymore, but he had to hear his name three times before he realized someone was calling him.

He clumsily turned himself over until he could pull himself up by the ledge and peer over. Immediately, his eyes connected with hers.

“Richard!” Camille said, quickening her pace over the last bridge.

He stood upright and held out an urgent hand towards her. “Careful! Careful.” But his warning seemed irrelevant, because she was soon coming to the end of the bridge and leaping down onto the rooftop.

“We heard gunshots,” she told him, flinging herself into his arms (a sensation he realized would never get old). “And when we couldn’t see you on the roof, I started to think-”

“It wasn’t me,” he answered into the side of her braid. “There was another group, off that way…I don’t think they made it.” As he spoke, he looked up and noticed Ronnie also stepping down onto the rooftop, apparently none the worse for wear.

Camille pulled away after a little while, lingering only a moment to touch his cheek. “I’m glad you’re alright,” she finally said.

“I could say the same for you,” here, he looked back over to his timepiece. The shadow was very nearly to the brick now. “Bit more than two hours,” he observed pointedly, at which Ronnie looked a little guilty.

“Yes, well…I may have got a little distracted,” the other man confessed.

“Ronnie has a genius idea,” Camille explained excitedly, hanging onto Richard with an arm around his waist.

“Were you able to find the last of the things from Holden’s list?” Richard asked, letting his posture mimic Camille’s by draping his arm across her shoulders.

“And then some,” was Ronnie’s reply. Then the man turned his pack over and several tools and miscellaneous metal and plastic pieces came clanging to the ground, followed by the soft thumps of various fabrics.

“What’s all this then?” Richard asked, thinking through Dr. Holden’s list of desired items and their creative, less-ideal counterparts. He couldn’t see how any of the items that just cascaded from Ronnie’s bag could meet any of the requirements.

“This is your boot. Or it will be,” Ronnie said, bending over to sift through the supplies and organize them.

“My what?”

“Your boot,” Camille said. “Ronnie made a good point while we were approaching his shop. He said there was no way you’d be able to make it all the way back to the cave with your foot the way it is.”

Richard could hardly argue with that assessment, although it was one he hadn’t admitted aloud yet.

“My wife broke her foot two years ago at my boy’s baseball game. Said the pain was bloody awful, but the doctors put her in this boot thing, and she said it took a lot of the pressure off. Wasn’t her favorite thing to wear cause it was pretty clunky and awkward, and made it where she looked like she stepped in a paint can, she said…but at least she could walk around.” Ronnie stood up with a thick piece of metal bent in the shape of an L in his hands. “I lived with that thing lying around my house for three months. It’s still in my garage, I think. But anyway,” here, he examined the pliability of the metal he was holding, “I reckon I could make one. The design’s pretty simple.”

The whole time Ronnie had been talking, he had scarcely looked up at Richard even once. And good thing too, because if he had, Richard honestly didn’t know what he could have said to the other man. Truth was, he was rather taken aback by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. He felt Camille’s hand rise and swipe over his back affectionately, comfortingly, like she could tell he was moved.

He turned his head to look at her. “But, what about Trevor?” he finally asked.

Camille replied by nodding towards Ronnie and saying, “Some of that is for him, and also,” she opened her pack and Richard peered inside it, “All of this.”

“So that’s everything?” Richard asked expectantly.

“Everything,” Camille confirmed, right as a loud clang erupted from where Ronnie had started whacking a hammer against the side of a metal piece. She said something else to him, but Richard couldn’t hear what it was over the noise. He dipped his face closer and turned his ear towards her.

“I said how did your little project go?” Camille repeated.

“Ahh,” Richard said, straightening up again. Then he gestured out with his hand in a manner that said “right this way,” and the two of them started making their way across the rooftop, away from the racket.

Camille used her position underneath Richard to support him as he limped along, and a part of him wondered if that was her intention all along. They approached Richard’s little work station and he let go of her when she crouched down to see what he had accomplished.

“Nicely done,” she said, impressed. “And all of that is what we’re leaving behind?” she pointed to the considerable pile of packaging Richard had removed.

“Precisely,” he answered.

Camille immediately started unloading her haphazardly-stuffed pack so that she could load up Richard’s neatly-arranged pile of consolidated supplies. As she worked, Richard hesitantly began the process of lowering himself to the ground. He hadn’t done this from a free-standing position yet, always relying on the ledge of the rooftop for stability. This was considerably more complicated.

Holding his arms straight out in front of himself, like Frankenstein’s monster, Richard experimentally tried squatting with his good leg. Nope, Richard realized, popping back up before he blew out his knee. That definitely wasn’t going to work. He bent over forward, deciding he might be able to drop himself into a two-hands-one-leg kind of crouch if his arms were strong enough.

Just as Richard had committed to this idea, Camille looked up and seemed to finally realize what he was doing. In a tardy attempt to help him, she reached out with an “oh!” and caught one of his hands. One of his hands he had been relying on to catch himself. As a result, Richard then found himself falling not towards the open space on the ground, but distinctly towards Camille, and the momentum he had already built up was unstoppable now.

Their foreheads smashed together and then their shoulders as Richard solidly tackled her to the floor, feeling her smaller frame crush beneath his dense and boney stature. For a second, they were a mess of limbs and faces, and both let out their preferred rendition of “oomph!” until they stopped toppling and settled into stillness.

Richard blinked hard. His teeth hurt, and his knee. He was pretty sure the latter hit the ground pretty roughly, but he had no idea what exactly his teeth had come into contact with. With a grunt and a shake of the head, he finally opened his eyes to find himself fully and bodily pressed down onto almost every inch of Camille.

“Good lord,” he mumbled, trying to roll off of her. “I am so sorry, Camille. Are you okay?”

Her eyes were shut tight and her face was pinched in a grimace. Richard felt terrible, hoping he hadn’t done any severe damage. Then, she sucked in a sharp breath, which was quickly returned as a huge guffaw of laughter. Richard’s eyes widened in surprise.

Camille brought a hand up to her mouth and continued to laugh deliriously. Richard rolled onto an elbow and just watched her, unsure how to take this response. Camille was laughing so hard now that there was no sound coming out, just a slight jiggle to her body as her eyes remained tightly shut and her hand bridged between her chin and her nose.

Eventually, Richard was left with no other option but to smile. “Are you…Did I hurt you?” he asked with a tiny chuckle.

Camille finally breathed in, with a snort, and started to lift her head, opening her eyes for the first time. “I’m sorry!” she said, “I think that was my fault.”

“Oh, it was definitely your fault,” Richard said, pleased when it made her laugh again. “But I think I probably did the most damage.”

Camille’s hand left her mouth and started feeling her face. “You bit my cheek,” she informed, and Richard was mortified.

“I did?” He immediately pulled Camille’s hand away and tilted her face so he could see the damage. “Good lord,” he repeated, seeing the long scrape angled across her cheek. “You look like you’ve been in a sword fight.”

She chuckled again. “I’ll tell the others we encountered pirates,” she joked.

“Everything else okay?”

“I think so,” Camille answered, lifting her head to check over the rest of her body. “What about you?”

“I’m fine. You honestly broke most of my fall.”

“And your foot?”

“Is fine,” he answered briskly. “You’re sure you’re okay though? I may have lost some weight on the ‘apocalypse survival diet,’ but I’m not a light man.” As he spoke, a wavering hand skimmed over her body, pressing lightly here and there, settling against her ribs to see if they were tender. He looked up at her to gauge her reaction, planning to search her face for signs of pain, but when he saw the expression on her face, Richard froze.

He had touched all over her body almost without thinking about it, trying to see if she was okay, but his little examination had had a very different sort of effect on Camille. When he looked into her face, he was struck, like taking a rocket to his chest, by the unrestrained look of mounting desire in her eyes.

Camille’s mouth hung loosely open, and her breath was in steady pants as she looked at him, fed on him with her gaze. Remarkably, Richard didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he let it rest on her ribcage, spread wide, rising and falling in union with her breaths. Detecting a sense of permission in her eyes, Richard dropped his gaze to roam her body again, this time, in a way that was decidedly not medical, caught in the wonder of how openly it was displayed for him. Closing his mouth in a quiet gulp, Richard looked back into Camille’s eyes. He slid his hand upward, no more than an inch, and closed the spacing between his fingers, feeling his thumb graze over the underside of her breast.

Camille slipped her eyes shut and sighed, a look of simple bliss on her face. A look which Richard could scarcely believe. He moved his hand again, up.

“How big is your foot?” Ronnie called, followed quickly by a “Oh, sorry.”

But it was enough.

Richard turned his head towards his friend, pulling his hand away in the same movement, and saw Ronnie looking rather sheepishly towards the floor. Richard had to blink a few times before he felt his face was back to normal, not wanting to know what sort of enraptured expression he had been wearing when he first looked up at Ronnie.

“Umm, ten and a half,” Richard answered presently, feeling like his voice sounded odd.

“Here,” Camille spoke beside him. She rolled away slightly and reached for Richard’s nearby shoe, discarded from the night before. She made an impressive throw and sent the shoe whirling tomahawk style at Ronnie.

He dropped his hammer in time to catch the shoe. “Thank you,” he said. Then with a little nod as he got back to his work, he repeated, “Sorry…carry on.”

But they obviously wouldn’t ‘carry on’ now. Richard and Camille looked back at one another and both seemed properly embarrassed. Camille cleared her throat and Richard thought he saw her blush. (That was usually difficult for him to tell, given her skin tone. But this time, he was almost certain it was there.) And he was pretty sure his cheeks were matching her effort.

“Em,” he said, chewing on the inside of his cheek and trying to think of something to say. “You’re definitely alright?”

“I’m great,” she answered, casting him a meaningful look accompanied by a tiny smirk.

Richard’s face heated even more and he felt a flurry in his stomach. Clearing his throat, he said, “Right, good,” and then nodding a moment later, “Right…good.”

“So,” Camille said, repositioning herself onto her knees. “Most of this can fit in this pack, I believe.”

“Right,” Richard said, then had to close his eyes and actively hold back from following it up with another doltish ‘good.’ He moved to her side and helped her by handing each new item to her as Camille methodically stuffed the bag.

The task was just what they needed to defuse whatever tension had been building between them a moment ago. They worked together trying out a few different combinations of pockets and bags to make sure everything had a home. At one point, Camille removed something she had already had in the pocket of her shorts and tucked it away quickly into her shirt pocket before Richard could see what it was. He didn’t have time to inquire about it because she quickly got up and retrieved Ronnie’s pack to add to their efforts. Between their pockets, the AED case, and all three packs, they were able to get almost everything packed away, just excluding the few things that were still mixed up with the boot supplies over in Ronnie’s work space. With a little room remaining in Camille’s pack, and the use of Ronnie’s pockets, Richard felt fairly confident that they should be able to transport everything back rather comfortably, still leaving room for them to carry their weapons.

Ronnie came over a few times to test the boot on Richard’s foot, then he’d take it away to make adjustments, and the inspector became increasingly impressed with Ronnie’s skills as a craftsman. What started out ostensibly as a pile of junk was slowly and methodically coming together as a rather well-designed, form-fitting boot. Ronnie ran generous layers of cloth along the inside, wrapped around dismantled air conditioning filters, achieving a rather effective padding that cradled Richard’s foot gently inside the boot. He even punctured holes in the side and de-laced Richard’s leather boot to thread the shoe lace onto the new metal boot to adjust how snuggly it closed around Richard’s ankle and shin. There wasn’t much by way of protection over the top of Richard’s foot, just more layers of fabric, but the metal frame was there, effectively a sort of external scaffolding for Richard’s foot, sparing his own injured bones from having to bear the toll of Richard’s body weight.

When Ronnie finally seemed satisfied with his work, he brought it to Richard and gingerly tucked him into it, strapping him in. Camille and Ronnie took a spot on either side of Richard and helped to hoist him into a standing position.

“Okay, slow now,” Ronnie cautioned, wiping sweat off his brow.

Tentatively, both Camille and Ronnie released Richard, keeping their arms out as if ready to catch him at any moment. Richard could already tell that the padding was a godsend, but the real test would come when he tried putting weight on it. He started by lifting his good foot, letting it hang an inch or two off the ground and forcing his broken foot to hold him. Amazingly, the boot took most of the weight itself and Richard’s injured foot felt mostly fine.

“So far so good,” he said, and noticed how Ronnie and Camille smiled at each other excitedly.

Richard dropped himself back down onto two feet and then cautiously took a step forward on his broken foot. The mechanics of walking were suddenly complicated. The sole of the boot was not entirely level and it was also rather slick, lacking any form of traction, so Richard had to hold his arms out for balance. Still, the boot held his weight long enough for Richard to swing his good leg forward into place.

One step.

Never had one step felt like such an achievement. Mentally, he had been trying to prepare himself for the conversation where he would have to tell them to go back to the camp without him. The thought had terrified him, of course, but he just couldn’t see a way around it. But now, he had just taken a step, an important step, and it was enough to make him wonder. Was it possible? Richard cast an unbelieving smile at his friend, which Ronnie returned before saying, “Don’t stop. Again.”

Richard took a few more practice steps. They were slow, and there wasn’t much forward give to the boot, so he wasn’t able to ever lead with his good foot and let his broken one be the back support. He always had to lead with the boot and could only rock forward to a certain degree before his shin would halt at the front of the boot and restrict any further movement. But it was enough. He could take slow, careful steps, and it was more than he could do that morning.

It would have to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you are! Another long one to reward you for your patience while my schedule goes topsy-turvy. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the next one should be up on Tuesday! Until then, let me know your thoughts on this!


	12. Homeward Bound

Chapter Twelve: Homeward Bound

In most ways, the journey home felt much slower than the journey out, and Richard felt largely responsible for that. His handicap meant that the group was no longer able to traverse the ground level one at a time. They could no longer risk Richard being caught out there on his own without immediate backup. They had to move forward as a single unit, keeping a keen eye out for trouble and moving very slowly to keep their footfalls as soft as possible. Along the rooftops, they could move quicker, except when it came to the connecting bridges. Hampered by his boot, crossing those bridges was a very slow, very careful process for Richard, sometimes requiring him to take it on his hands and knees. Obviously, all of this made the journey feel a lot slower.

But in other ways, it seemed oddly faster. For one thing, they weren’t making any stops along the way. Having collected everything they set out to get, there was no need to stop and search any of the buildings they passed. They also didn’t have to change their route in order to include a certain destination; they could take the most direct path straight back to Mount Esmée. And given the fact that their route through the city had so far led them in an oblong circle, they weren’t that far removed from the edge of the jungle now. In that respect, Richard felt their journey back was actually a little easier. He tried to focus on that, and not on how very much like a toddler he felt, wobbling forward in shaky steps at a sloth’s pace.

Still, all things considered, they really did make good time. The bright disc of the sun had just slipped below the horizon as they made it to the edge of Honoré. The sky was still enjoying its afterglow and the team briefly considered just pressing on. Traveling through the jungle after nightfall, as perilous as that may seem under normal circumstances, was actually much safer than trying to navigate the crypto-infested city at night, and they were all three quite keen to get back to camp. After all, when Holden had first awoken Richard (and Camille) to say it was time to send out a team, he did look rather urgent. Richard hated that they had already postponed Trevor’s procedure by two days while they searched for the supplies. Waiting another night, when home was just a few hours trek up the mountain, seemed like such a waste of time.

But the one fact that they couldn’t deny was right in front of them. Or…below them. Richard’s foot would keep them from being able to comfortably traverse the jungle floor at any great speed. More than likely, if they continued now, they would eventually be forced to stop somewhere for the night anyway. And none of them were very keen on the idea of sleeping in the open jungle, Richard least of all. A rooftop was much safer. So they decided to camp there for the night and set out again in the morning, hopefully making it back to camp by noon or a little after.

The food they had brought along was getting rather low, but they shared a packet of cashews and a sleeve of crumbled crackers. They hadn’t exactly thought out their water conservation, as both of these meal items were rather dry and coated the mouth with a thick layer of edible dust, but they had all mostly run out of water. A tiny bit remained in Ronnie’s bottle, and they endeavored to split that amongst themselves as evenly as they were able.

Then, it was time to settle down again for another night under the Caribbean stars. Richard volunteered to take first watch, knowing that he had done the least amount of work today and the others deserved to rest. They didn’t argue.

Unlike the previous night, this one was quiet, removed from the overactive hive that was the center of the city. There was also a fairly robust easterly breeze that swept over them, chilling away the normal tropical heat and sending whispers through the tree tops. If Richard didn’t know any better, he might even describe the night as peaceful. A rarity in a life spent constantly warding off death. He felt lucky. If his team managed to dip in and out of that lion’s den with little more than a broken foot to show for it, then they were lucky indeed.

For a moment, a scene flashed through his mind, the clan of cryptos closing in on Camille as she struggled to climb that building. The fear Richard had felt swell within him in that moment was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was different even from the moment when Dwayne was charged down by one. In the case of the latter, Richard had feared losing one of his best friends. He stood suspended in reality, faced with the prospect of watching Dwayne die. Obviously, he couldn’t cope with the thought of that, and so he acted, impulsively. But when it was Camille, it felt different. He wasn’t an outside observer watching a friend teeter on the edge of death. It was as if Richard’s _own_ life was being threatened, his own world was hanging in the balance. When he jumped down onto that street, stomped on the ground to gain their attention, it didn’t feel like a heroic redirect at all, because whether the cryptos closed in on their initial target, or whether they diverted to him instead, it didn’t matter, Richard would die either way.

But somehow, against all odds, they had both survived. And Richard’s life had remained whole. At least for now.

The night wore on and Richard let the stars disappearing behind the jungle’s canopy be his time piece. When his selected constellation had finally disappeared from view, he reckoned that had to have been around four hours. He hobbled over to Ronnie and gingerly shook the other man’s shoulder, easing him to wakefulness.

No words were exchanged. Ronnie just clasped Richard on the shoulder in acknowledgement, rolling onto his back. He slapped his hand into the detective’s, welcoming the help in hoisting himself onto his feet.

As Ronnie took his post, Richard took his own, settling himself down beside Camille and curling around her back. He immediately became aware of her body jittering in an invisible shiver against the cold as she slept. He fitted himself to the shape of her more tightly, sharing as much warmth with her as he could, and then he closed his arm around her. After eight or nine seconds, the shivering stopped.

* * *

The next morning, Ronnie woke them when the sky was lit in a pale orange. “Time to get up, sleepy heads,” he told them. “We’ve got a job to finish.”

A few minutes were spent stretching and rousing themselves, but there wasn’t much of a “camp” to pack up again, so they were soon on their way. Richard was a little ungraceful in his dismount from the final rooftop, but once he was down, he did feel relieved to be back on solid ground. As awkward as walking was, climbing in his boot was an absolute joke, whether it was up or down. He was sure he would find things about the jungle to complain about too, but for now, he was glad to be done with the rooftops of Honoré.

And the jungle did offer its fair share of problems. The terrain was softer, but much more uneven than the roofs had been, and this had resulted in Richard tipping over a number of times. The falls were always oddly slow so they never did any damage. It was mostly the way Camille and Ronnie would fight to hide their giggles that truly hurt his pride.

The journey uphill was slower than down, which was no surprise. They were also loaded down with supplies on the return, not to mention sporting an injury in their party. They took lots of breaks, mostly to keep Richard’s foot from being overworked. Their water and food supply had run out the night before, so the breaks were not as restorative as they otherwise might have been, but they all used the time to at least rest their tired limbs. Malnourishment and dehydration were two very unwelcomed companions on their journey thus far, so the group was careful with how hard they pushed their bodies on this final leg of the journey.

The boot Ronnie had fashioned had done a lot of work to relieve the pain Richard felt when walking, but of course, it couldn’t counter all of it. It helped to stop down every now and then to elevate his leg for a bit and get the blood to circulate back up into the rest of his body. On one such break, sometime around noon, Camille and Ronnie finally convinced him to take another pain killer. That helped.

Richard guessed it must have been around mid-afternoon when they finally broke into a part of the jungle he recognized very well. About thirty minutes after that, they started hearing a familiar chatter. A few minutes after that, sounds were accompanied by sights, and Richard felt himself sigh with relief. It was almost over.

When they finally got in view of the camp, they could see several people out around the mouth of the cave, the usual hustle and bustle of camp life, with perhaps a little more activity surrounding a rather large pile of rather large branches. A fire was burning and several people were obviously busy cooking the camp meal, while others were shaking out their blankets and hitting them with branches to release little dust clouds. Others still were sitting in a little half circle, tearing huge leafs into long strips. Off about fifty feet away from the center of camp, a large blue tarp had been hung between two trees as a kind of tent. That certainly hadn’t been there when they left.

“They’re back!” called a familiar voice, and a very happy-looking Dwayne was soon upon them. He pointed at a random teen. “You! Go tell the doctor!”

The trio slowed to a stop as people surrounded them and took their packs from their shoulders, giving them all a hearty welcome home. Hands were shaken and backs were clapped, maybe one or two hugs were had, and Ronnie, Richard, and Camille soon had all sorts of fruits and nourishments thrust upon them. “Welcome back!” Dwayne said, slinging Camille’s bag over his arm.

“Yes! You all made good time! We weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow, maybe the day after,” Fidel said, shaking Ronnie’s hand.

“Well, a stroke of genius on Camille’s part meant that we knocked off a good portion of our grocery list pretty early in the excursion,” Richard explained, peeling a stout banana.

“But hey-o, what happened here?” Dwayne said, as if noticing Richard’s boot for the first time.

“Ah, yes, that. Lost a foot race, I’m afraid.”

“Umm…does that mean what I think it means?” he directed this question not to Richard but to his two companions, who both nodded in reply. Then, watching Camille a moment longer as she too peeled a banana and bit into it, Dwayne asked, “And what about you? Lose in a face race?”

She brought a hand up to her cheek, just remembering the scrape. She swallowed hurriedly and said, “Uh, no. Pirates.”

“Uh-HA!”

The laugh came out of nowhere, like clapping an inflated paper bag with a startling **POP!** and everyone turned to stare at the detective inspector in stunned silence.

Richard placed a hand over his heart, an entirely serious expression on his face, and confessed, “I have _no_ idea where that came from.”

“Well this is a surprise, I must say!” Holden’s voice came from the back of the crowd. People instinctively parted to let him pass. “Honestly didn’t expect you lot back for at least another day.” He smiled at them warmly and shook their hands.

“What, and miss Christmas?” Ronnie said, taking back his bag from the person who had kindly relieved him of it. Then he handed it to Holden, saying, “For you, doctor. Saw it in the window and knew you had to have it.”

Holden looked back and forth between Ronnie and Richard, a hesitant smirk and a quirked eye brow slowly being turned down to look inside the pack. His jaw fell open as he rifled through just the top layer of supplies in the tightly-packed satchel. “What all’s in here?”

“As much as we could find,” Richard answered. “You’ve got the three bags worth, plus a little more in our pockets. I’d only trust you to take a proper inventory, but I think we got your list pretty well covered.”

“Well with the little I’ve seen so far, I think it’s fair to say, you’ve done better than I thought you would. No offense.”

“None taken,” Camille replied.

“Xylocaine! How many vials is that?” the doctor said, his excitement starting to bubble a bit now.

“I think eleven,” Richard answered.

Holden looked up from the bag again, the grin on his face making him look very much like a boy on Christmas day indeed. The doctor ordered that a few people help him take the bags up to the cave, along with the few other items the three travelers were carrying on their persons, so that he could do as Richard suggested and take a “proper inventory.” Ronnie went with them.

“What about your foot?” Camille asked, watching as the newly stocked doctor scurried away.

“Ah, leave him to it. He has bigger fish to fry,” Richard said, before turning in the same breath to Fidel and asking, “So what’s all this then?” He gestured to the pile of lumber Fidel and several others had been surrounding when they first walked up.

“Oh, the barricade, sir,” Fidel answered. Truth be told, Richard had altogether forgotten about the last bit of instruction he had given Fidel before they parted ways several days ago. Of course, in keeping with his ever diligent personality, Fidel was not likely to forget about it as easily. And now that Richard knew what the pile represented, he could see that the young police sergeant had made very good progress on assembling the materials necessary for a barricade. In just a matter of time, their little camp would be well protected against oncoming, surface-side cryptos.

“That’s right, very _Les Miserables_ ,” Camille observed.

“Excuse me, but the concept of erecting a barricade is hardly a French invention,” Richard said, a little testy.

“ _Oui_ , but we made it famous,” she countered.

“You did indeed, and when we all start mounting it in pointless song, then I’d agree it’s very French. But until that happens (and God save us if it does), it’s just a standard English barricade.”

The woman’s hands yanked to perch on her hips, an obvious tempest stirring inside her. “What makes it ENGLISH?”

“Alright, Caribbean then! The point is: Not French.”

“It’s just, really _great_ to have you both back,” Dwayne said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and Fidel snorted.

“Anyway,” Sergeant Best continued, “we’ve just started the process, but we were thinking we’d start about there…” Fidel pointed up towards the side of the cave entrance, where the mountain shot up in a steep cliff face. He turned slowly, drawing an invisible line with his point, “taking it along that ridge there, just in front of these trees, then cutting between those two, before connecting again with the mountain around over there.”

Richard nodded at the plan. The circumference Fidel had just outlined would be near enough to the camp’s entrance to not require an additional patrol to guard it at night (their usual lookout at the mouth of the cave should suffice), while also being out far enough that the camp members would be able to be within its borders throughout the day to go about their usual chores. Richard summarized this verbally and then capped it off with a, “Well thought out.”

Fidel bristled with pride, “Thank you, sir.”

“And the method you had in mind in terms of the barricade design?”

“An X, with a cross beam to stabilize it,” the other man answered, placing his forefinger in the webbing between the forefinger and middle finger on his other hand. “About…a hundred times,” he said, dropping his hands.

“Sounds…reasonable.”

“That is, unless you had a different plan?”

Richard stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged. “Not at all. I see no reason to interfere; you obviously have this well in hand. Please carry on, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir!” Fidel answered, beaming once again. Then he returned to his work crew, a new authority in his voice as he told them, “So this length is perfect, but we need a lot more. Come with me.”

“You look like you could use a sit, Chief,” Dwayne said, suddenly reminding his colleagues that he was still standing there. He took one of Richard’s arms and braced it over his shoulder, helping guide him over to one of the logs around the campfire. Camille followed beside them.

“You know,” Dwayne went on. “A lot happened when you were away. These three kids just showed up a day after you left. Walkin’ up out of the jungle.”

“What?” Camille asked, aghast. She took the word right out of Richard’s mouth.

“I know,” answered Dwayne. “Shocked us all, too. Teenagers. Just made it up the mountain themselves after seeing the X.”

“Blimey. That thing’s still working, eh?”

“I’d say so. The doctor’s had us resume daily checks on it on our water runs to make sure it’s still hanging alright. Who knows how many more people will see it and come our way.”

“That’s exciting,” Camille said, helping to lower Richard down onto the log before joining beside him.

“Also, me and some other guys have been setting up this medical hut, at the doctor’s orders.”

“So I noticed,” Richard observed, looking over at the blue tarp again. “I suppose that’s where he plans to do the surgery?”

Dwayne nodded, “He said he wouldn’t cut into a human body in the middle of a dank, dripping cave.”

Camille shrugged, “Makes sense.”

“Where’d you get the tarp?”

Dwayne smirked a little, “nicked it from the X.” When Richard gave him a look, the copper leapt to his own defense. “It will go right back up when the doctor’s done with it. In the meantime, one of the sides is just a little shorter is all. And at any rate, the X still seems to be working. Those three kids are a sign of that.”

“Amazing that they made it all the way here on their own,” Camille observed, but any further discussion of the impressive children was cut short by a heavyset, jaunty woman coming over with two tin cups in her hands.

“I heard you were back! Must say, I was worried about you kids, out in that dreadful place over night. Several nights! You must be stuffed. Here, drink up! Before you faint. You too!”

Without further preamble, the woman placed the cups to Richard’s and Camille’s lips respectfully and started to tilt. The detectives both made a few startled gurgles as they reached up to take the cups in their own hands and control the rate of the pour a little more conservatively. Richard was still wiping the spilled moisture from his beard when the woman spoke again.

“That’s better. Now, Inspector, would you like to introduce me to your friend?”

“Yes,” he said between a few clearing coughs. His throat had to adjust to the feeling of moisture again, but he was glad for it. Already, his voice was starting to feel more at home in his own mouth. “Mrs. Beecher, this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey. Camille, this is Mrs. Beecher. She’s-”

“I’m his nan.”

Richard screwed up his face and cocked his head to the side at that declaration.

Mrs. Beecher reached forward and shook Camille’s hand with a warm smile, adding, “Unofficially.”

“I see,” Camille said, obvious amusement in her eyes as she shot a quick glance at Richard. “The camp nan, is it?”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Beecher beamed. “Someone’s got to look after these boys if they’re going to be the ones looking after everyone else. Though I dare to think I might not have to look out for this one quite so much, now that he’s found someone to cozy up with. So lonely before.”

“Uh,” was all of a response Richard had time for before Mrs. Beecher barreled onward.

“I would have introduced myself sooner. Except that you seemed rather busy right after your arrival the other day, and then you two were gone when I woke up the next morning.”

“Yes, the doctor thought we should head out right away for the medical supplies,” Camille answered, moving the conversation along and mercifully sparing Richard from extended discussion of his cozying habits.

“Yeah, that Booker. He’s been a busy beaver since you left. I could hardly get him to settle down yesterday for supper. I think he’ll try to do that surgery this afternoon, I shouldn’t wonder, now that you’re back.”

“I reckon you’re probably right,” Dwayne replied. “He’s been stocking the medical tent for the last two days, trying to sanitize the inside with tons of boiling water. I think he thinks it’s about ready.”

Dwayne was right. In about an hour, Holden had taken full inventory of everything that had been gathered in Honoré, and soon after, he called a group of men to carry Trevor carefully down the slope and take him into the tent. It was clear that some sort of plan had been laid out by the good doctor before the supplies even arrived, because everything went like clockwork. A group immediately stoked a second campfire and began boiling water for sterilization. Loads of towels and linens were carried into the tent. Holden scrubbed, along with two others: Haley Matheson, who Richard knew worked as a dental hygienist, and a middle aged woman Richard didn’t recognize but who arrived with Camille’s group and was evidently a veterinarian.

It was hard not to feel useless as everyone in the camp seemed to step into carefully laid out roles while Richard stayed sat on a log, twiddling his thumbs. Eventually able to resist the urge no longer, Richard stood and hobbled over to his friend. “Doctor, is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“You’ve done it,” Holden replied without looking up, waving his hands to dry them from his washing up. Another young lady came up to Holden and held open a latex glove for him. He waved his hand for a few seconds longer before slipping it into the glove.

“Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” the doctor said, turning to look at Richard and casting a notable glance down at his foot. “Ronnie told me about your excitement with the crypto. I’ll want to have a look at it just as soon as the boy’s sorted.”

Richard waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

“It’s broken,” Camille corrected, alerting Richard to the fact that she was standing directly behind him.

“Well if that’s the case, then there is something you can do for me,” Holden said as his second hand snapped and squeaked into the latex. “Go back to feeling anxious on that bench over there. God knows you’ve been on your feet enough today.”

Richard barely restrained a huff of annoyance at being brushed off. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from saying snidely, “Bit generous calling a felled tree a ‘bench,’ isn’t it?”

“Bit generous calling me a ‘surgeon,’ and yet here we are,” Holden answered, turning to Richard and displaying his arms out wide. “The age of generosity.”

The doctor went to move past them, stopping to smile at Richard’s companion. “Ms. Bordey, I still feel like we’ve never gotten to meet under normal circumstances. Consider this an IOU for a proper handshake a little later.”

Camille smiled back and answered, “That sounds acceptable.”

But something about Holden’s little self-deprecating joke had troubled Richard, so before the doctor could walk away, he called out his name, making Holden stop and look at him once more. “Are you going to be alright?”

The smile Camille had left on the doctor’s face quickly fell away, and the quiet worry of a man in over his head took its place. “Ask me that in an hour,” he said at last, and then turned to enter the surgical tent.

But Richard couldn’t ask him in an hour, not even two, because the operation just went on and on. The camp tried to function as normal. People continued with their daily routines. The camp meal was served as usual, but instead of the rowdy hum of congregation conversation, a much quieter murmuring took its place as people ate. It was the tension; the whole camp felt it. Every once in a while, Haley Matheson would poke her head out of the tent, barking orders for someone to fetch them more of something. As night began to fall, Richard ordered the camp to surrender all of their lanterns and flashlights, which everyone was happy to do, and the tent was illuminated, like a pretty blue nightlight in a child’s bedroom.

Richard alternated between pacing like a madman and sitting on the non-bench to rest his leg. It wasn’t immediately obvious to him whether his foot was actually improving, or whether he had simply been too distracted to feel the pain, but either way, he found himself pacing more often than sitting. Camille, Catherine, and Mrs. Beecher all kept vigil with Trevor’s mother, Michelle, lending the woman as much comfort as they were able to muster between the three of them. Richard tried not to look over in that direction too often.

He couldn’t look at Michelle without feeling nauseous. He was plagued by this feeling that they had waited too long, that they should have gone out and collected the supplies for this procedure much earlier than this. And perhaps if Richard had not been so paranoid about the dangers of Honoré, they could have had this surgery when Trevor was stronger.

Richard crashed down onto the bench again with a huff, dropping his head into his hands. He scratched his fingers over his scalp, mussing his hair in the process, but it was always somewhat messy these days. He latched on to a clump of hair and tugged, not enough to hurt, just enough to distract. He wished this was a case, wished there were clues to analyze, timelines to scrutinize, questions to ask. But there was nothing. Nothing at all to occupy him or make this time pass a little more painlessly. He just had to…wait. With everyone else.

That moment, he heard someone approaching his space. For the most part, this was an exception rather than a rule. People had mostly left him alone in his pacing and thinking. But when he glanced up, he wasn’t altogether surprised to see Camille.

“Come,” she said. “It’s time to go to bed.”

“But-” he looked over to the place where Camille had been previously sitting. Catherine sat with her arm around Trevor’s mother.

“ _Maman_ is going to wait with her.”

“But what about-” Richard’s eyes began to drift over to the tent, but Camille stepped forward, invading his space.

“Shh,” she told him, running both hands through his hair, like he had done just a few short minutes ago. His skin prickled and he sighed. “There’s nothing else for you to do, Richard. It’s in the doctor’s hands now, and we’ve been up since dawn. Your worries aren’t going to help that boy. And neither will mine. Come on; come to bed.”

Richard just stared up at her. He really was exhausted, too exhausted to even formulate a reply. All he could do was stare. Camille reached into his lap and grabbed his hands, stepping back gently to coax him to his feet. He followed her. She turned away from him slowly, putting her arms behind her back and continuing to tow him in her wake. He followed her some more.

When they got to the steep incline of the cave entrance, she had to loop her arm around him for a more secure hold. The smooth bottom of the boot was not good at gripping the loose terrain and so he had to take the steepest part sideways, like he was wearing skis. Eventually, they made it into the cave and the ground leveled out. With nearly all of the camp’s lights being put to work in the tent outside, the interior of the cave was almost pitch black. Camille resumed her position in the lead, holding his hands behind her back, and she carefully felt along the cave floor with her feet, listening to Richard’s whispered words of guidance behind her. “No, no. Not far enough. A bit more along this wall.” Like that, the two cautiously made their way through the cave and back over to their little pad.

Camille crawled in first, feeling around with her hands to reacquaint herself with the space. She repositioned the little pillow and pulled aside the blanket. She snuggled down into the mossy padding and then said ever so quietly, “Okay.”

At her word, she heard Richard start to move, carefully lowering himself down to join her. They mingled in one another’s space, sharing breathing room and feeling to locate each other’s positions in the dark. It took some finagling to find a good spot for Richard’s clunky foot to rest, but when they had, Camille laid back and Richard followed her down, tucking himself into the crook of her arm, letting Camille situate the blanket over them. When he closed his eyes, he noticed no change from the darkness of the cave, but the sound of Camille’s steady heartbeat was a welcomed lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The team is home again, safe and sound! I really hope you all are still enjoying this story. We are steadily closing in on the conclusion of Act Two, which means there are some important turns in the chapters ahead. So stay tuned for that! And in the meantime, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! :)


	13. The Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Warning: I raised the rating with this chapter due to the use of some strong language.

Chapter Thirteen: The Inevitable

Trevor died two days later.

Holden had been successful in removing the mass from Trevor’s abdomen, a tough, charcoal gray tumor that had been attached to his stomach with two thin stocks. Trevor had revived again after the surgery, waking a few times, but he never regained his strength. It happened quietly. Holden officially declared Trevor dead around mid morning and quietly informed the boy’s mother. She, in turn, informed the rest of the camp by unleashing a loud wail and crashing down onto her son’s body, weeping over him.

The loss of Trevor was felt keenly across the whole camp, everyone processing it in their own ways. Even the newcomers to the group seemed to grasp the weight of this event. If Trevor’s mom was the most devastated, then chasing behind her in a close second was Dr. Booker Holden. The physician sat with the boy’s mother for as long as he could bear, and then stood and stormed out of the cave. Ronnie was quick on his heels, Richard was less quick on his, and Camille followed after all three of them.

Holden marched deep into the jungle, as far removed from the main body of the camp as he could manage before a roar of anger swelled up inside of him. He grabbed a large branch from the ground and started swinging, hacking away at a bush, releasing his fury onto the poor thing.

Ronnie stood back several paces and just watched. Silently, Camille and Richard joined him.

The victim of many dozen strikes, the bush was stripped of all of its greenery just as its abuser started to lose steam. Holden rocked back on his heels, his arms falling limp at his sides, his chest heaving up and down. The branch fell to the ground with a thud.

Slowly, Ronnie approached his friend, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder.

Holden instantly shook free from the grasp. “Pointless,” he spat vindictively, staggering a few paces and turning back to look at his small audience. “Fucking pointless, all of it. You three risked your lives for nothing. That boy was as good as dead the second those filthy animals surfaced, and we were fools to think we could stop it. He needed a hospital three months ago! He needed a _surgeon_! Not some…bloody, family physician who hasn’t touched a scalpel in ten years! I operated on a corpse! And for what? To stave off his mother’s tears for another day? Pointless.”

“It was more than that, Holden. You gave her hope,” Ronnie said, trying to comfort his friend.

It didn’t work. “Then I’m as heartless as I am inadequate,” the doctor said grimly, pushing past his friends and stalking back towards the camp.

Richard stayed in place with his arms crossed over his chest, keeping his gaze low as the doctor and then Ronnie passed him. A few seconds ticked by before Camille spoke.

“The poor man; he’s heartbroken. You should go speak to him.”

The tiniest movement at Richard’s shoulder suggested a shrug. “And say what exactly? He’s right.”

Camille’s mouth slowly dropped open. “You don’t believe that,” she said after letting his words sink in.

“Don’t I? Everything he said was true. Trevor needed serious medical attention even before the cryptos attacked, and once he was cut off from receiving that care, he was as good as dead. His fate was sealed months ago, and it’s true for the rest of them, isn’t it?” Now Richard was the one whose emotions were mounting towards eruption. He had half a mind to go pick up that branch and give that bush another few rounds.

He took a few steps just to pace out his energy and went on. “We’re not saving lives here; we’re delaying the inevitable. That’s what all of this has been about from the beginning. Those people came to _us_ , they look to _us_. But we don’t know what we’re doing, Camille! Even now, there’s some poor sod out there somewhere else on this island, seeing that X just as you did, and they’re making their way here this instant, expecting some promised land on the other side, some salvation to this hell hole. But we don’t have it. We’re no more capable of saving them than Holden was of saving Trevor. We just don’t have the _means_.” He stressed these words in a pained voice to the woman who stood there agape, listening. He huffed and looked away, feeling a stinging welling up behind his eyes. But he didn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry.

“Every day,” he continued, his voice cracking, “we lose a little bit more: ammunition, water, food…And the more people who come, the faster we’ll lose. Sometime _very soon_ , Camille, I won’t be able to protect them and I won’t be able to feed them. And they’ll all come to realize that that X promised nothing at all! Nothing but a slower train headed to the exact same station.”

Richard took a deep breath, fighting against the tears that threatened to come. He felt defeated. Utterly so. As if voicing all of those fears was all that had remained between Richard and his own crushing end. He paced around in circles, his cheeks staying dry while his lips quivered around shaky breaths. The pain in his foot felt good.

When he spoke again, his voice was small, like that of a child. “I don’t…I don’t know how to help these people,” he confessed, too fatigued to evade her when she gently approached him.

Wordlessly, she stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle and letting his face fall into her shoulder.

“I don’t know what they need.”

“Shh,” she soothed, stroking her hand over the back of his head. “Yes you do. You know what they need.” She pulled back in his grasp, forcing him to look up into her eyes. Camille tenderly held his face in her hands. “You said it yourself when we were heading out,” she told him. “Fidel and the others questioned you about your decision for us to go out into the city. And you told them it was a risk you were willing to take. You spoke to them about seizing a chance, even if it was a very small chance, to prevent someone’s death. After facing too much death already, you said this was finally an opportunity to do something to fight back, to save a life. You spoke about hope being restored.”

Camille watched his reaction intently, needing to see that his clever mind was comprehending what she was telling him. “That is the Richard these people need. They need the one who doesn’t give up. The one who tells them there is still hope, that there’s always hope. And that you will continue to do whatever you can, take whatever chance you get, to see them safely to rescue. You can do that, can’t you?”

Truth was: Camille’s little speech had actually worked to lift his spirits slightly. It was hard to look into those deep brown eyes, feel her gentle touch on his cheek, have his own words thrown back at him, and not feel compelled by it all. It felt like she was picking up his pieces and pasting them back together, just enough for him to see the image that existed on them, and be reminded of who he really was. It helped, more than Richard could readily say.

But when she posed that final question, he just had to sigh. “I have no idea,” he answered truthfully. “I want to do it, be all those things you just said. I really do…but, it’s bloody hard. God.”

He pulled back from her grasp a little more and they both mutually removed their hands from each other. Richard rubbed a hand over his forehead, noticing his splitting headache for the first time. “Why is it so much harder to tell people not to give up than it is to bring a sadistic serial killer to justice?”

“That’s an easy one: because a murder inquiry has a solution. You are a man of puzzles. Your brain thrives on order and logic. Every murder has an explanation, and if you just ask the right questions, eventually, you will understand all of the whos and whys and hows. But here?”

“There is no solution,” Richard realized. “No facts. Just…questions.”

“Just faith,” Camille corrected. 

* * *

The pair slowly returned to camp and Camille watched as Richard slipped back into his role of unwavering leadership. He delivered a formal address to the group, thanking them and commending them for the way they had all rallied around this cause and done their part for one of their own. He told them he was devastated by this loss, just as they all likely were, and he encouraged everyone to take their time in grieving. To Trevor’s mother, he offered very specific condolences, even apologizing on behalf of Holden, Ronnie, and himself for any way in which their leadership had contributed to this tragedy. “All of us ask ourselves those questions in times such as these, don’t we? What if I had done something differently? What if I…had acted sooner? Could this have gone a different way?” Richard paused and looked out at the crowd, seeing as those words resonated in many expressions. Richard gulped.

“I don’t blame you,” a voice called from the side of the cave. Richard turned and made eye contact with Michelle, a woman he had been avoiding throughout this entire ordeal and to whom he had scarcely spoken two words since their initial meeting. With puffy red eyes, she stood and looked out over the crowd. “I don’t blame any of you. I don’t know who I blame. I just…I will miss my boy.”

A wave of sympathetic nods rippled across the crowd, and Richard joined in the movement solemnly. He gulped again. “Thank you,” he said quietly, perhaps too quietly even to be heard. “None of us wanted this to happen…and we did everything in our power to prevent it,” here, he looked at Holden specifically. “That is all any of us can do. That is what we must continue to do. Fight in whatever way we can to prevent this island from taking another life. We depend on each other, you see?”

Again, nods bobbed over the crowd.

“I think the loss of Trevor has certainly hit us all hard, and it’s a blow we will likely feel for some time. Not only because of the absence of his charming personality,” as he said this, a few people chuckled at unspoken, happy memories. Personally, Richard knew very little about the young man, but he included this comment knowing that, though short lived, the boy’s membership in the group had left quite the impression on several others. He had been very well liked. Richard continued, “but also because it has reminded some of us of the very real subject of mortality in our situation.”

He looked over to Camille, standing along the side of the cave. She nodded at him reassuringly and he steeled himself for what he must say next, trying to convince himself it wasn’t a lie. “Rescue will come; it can’t be long now. I want you to know that it is my intention to see each and every one of you to safe rescue. I know my colleagues, Ronnie, Dr. Holden, DS Bordey, are all in agreement with me on this: your health and safety are our primary concern. But…we cannot do this alone. If there was one thing that struck me about this island when I first came here, it was your unity. Everyone seemed to be in agreement on everything, dress, music, food, work ethic, recreation…time management.”

People chuckled at this, many of them remembering how very much like a sore thumb Richard stood out in those first few months. In every way he mentioned they had been in agreement as a community, Richard had adamantly disagreed. They all considered it a group victory the first time he was seen out for drinks with his team, or that time he showed up at a concert, or the few times they had seen him in his little boat out on the water. And the service he did to the community by bringing their murderers to justice (sometimes after decades of silence from the police force) had done a lot to endear him to the community. The people had already adopted him as a Son of St. Marie long before he finally started to think of the island as home, he just hadn’t been aware. 

“My point is: You are a community built on cohesion, and our situation calls for that unity again. Myself and the other three will of course do our very best to lead you. But where we lack, each of you can fill the void. Look out for each other. Give to each other. Rescue will come, but in the interim, we have to rely on one another to get every one of us across that finish line. Can we agree on that?”

Everyone nodded again, some even voicing their agreement with confident “sures” and “you got its.” Richard nodded, seeing the hope restored to the expressions before him. He cast a look over at his fellow leaders and noticed how even Holden looked a little surer. Finally, Richard looked over at Camille in wonder, marveling at how perfectly she had read the situation. Hope. That was all they needed.

He dismissed the group only after getting a few volunteers to help organize a funeral and burial for Trevor. As the volunteers began to huddle together to discuss plans he approached them with a single rule: no digging. He didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention with a lot of noisy, terranean activity. The volunteers had to scratch their heads at this restriction, but he left them to figure it out on their own.

Camille watched him with a curious expression as he approached her. “Another fine speech,” she told him with an approving nod.

He glanced over their surroundings to see if anyone was listening to them, but everyone had gone back to their own affairs, and no one was really close enough to eavesdrop. “Thank you,” he said modestly.

“Might one dare to say that you even started to believe it yourself? Maybe a little bit?” she prodded, a hint of teasing in her voice, yet he could tell she was actually being sincere.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, because it was true. There was still a part of him that doubted rescue would come in time, but he couldn’t deny feeling some confidence restored in their ability to hold out long enough for that to happen.

“Mm, _bon_ ,” she said, clapping her hands onto his chest in a congratulatory gesture. “Then come with me; I have a reward for you.”

Richard felt his face heating at her words as she took his hand and began to lead him from the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd call this chapter "short and sweet" except, well, it's not too much of the latter. Much like the title suggests, I always knew this chapter was coming, but it still made it a difficult one to write. It's hard to put your characters in a low point while also providing a way for them to climb out. Thank God for Camille Bordey and her optimism. 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on this one. I love hearing from you! The next chapter is one of my personal favorites. So stay tuned for that!


	14. The Feast

Chapter Fourteen: The Feast

They took the steep incline away from the cave’s mouth carefully, even though Richard was getting much better at walking in his boot. The camp had moved on after Richard’s speech and many people had begun their daily tasks, feeling bolstered in their contributions to the group’s welfare. But just under the surface, past the tentative optimism, there was a persisting sadness that kept the mood balanced. Not too carefree, but not too macabre. Most everyone rested somewhere in the middle.

Camille guided Richard to the little V of logs that framed the camp’s primary fire pit. It was here that most of the camp’s meals were prepared by the group cooks. At the moment, it was still too early to begin meal preparation, so the fire was inactive. Several feet away, however, the secondary fire was ablaze and a work group was preparing a load of laundry to be boiled.

After depositing Richard onto one of the logs, Camille left him and scurried away to the people at the secondary fire. She knelt down beside the woman who was stoking the fire and shared something with her in hushed tones. The other woman glanced up at Richard while she listened to Camille’s plan. Presently, she nodded, apparently giving Camille permission for something and then Camille left to head back into the cave. When she emerged again, she walked very carefully with something concealed behind her back, knelt by the fire again, and carefully positioned something down in the embers of the fire (behind the laundry pot so it was out of Richard’s view).

She walked back up to him with a proud smile on her face. “It will just be a moment.”

“Am I supposed to guess?” he asked, both amused and intrigued by her behavior.

“No,” she said and took a seat beside him. “It’s better if you’re surprised.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

He gave her a look, which she answered by swaying into him, bumping their shoulders together, and his spirits lifted even more.

Another work crew approached them, carrying bundles of palm branches. “Sorry to interrupt, Inspector,” one of them said, bowing her head in meek modesty, as if intruding upon an intimate moment. “We were going to use this space to weave more bowls and make more rope for the barricade.”

Richard responded with an “Oh,” and moved to get up, but Camille stayed him with a hand on his shoulder and answered for them, saying, “Not a problem. Please, have a seat. We’ll help!”

Richard gave her a look of slight surprise but settled down by her side again anyway, happy to comply. The others spread out and descended upon the logs, causing Richard and Camille to have to huddle closer to one another to make room, their hips, thighs, and shoulders pressed against one another. It reminded Richard of the night time, when they would get close enough to share warmth and breath and perhaps a few unspoken secrets. Apart from their first hug, which Richard would now admit was more demonstrative than his usual public behavior, nightfall was, in fact, the only time in which they engaged in very close, bodily contact. It was one thing to indulge in that sort of nearness under the cover of darkness and away from prying eyes, but feeling Camille’s body so pressed against his now, and in full view of the camp, surrounded by many friends and acquaintances, he felt a little scandalous. The Englishman cleared his throat nervously and tried to inch away from Camille by the tiniest degree. It didn’t help matters when she seemed to notice his discomfort and dropped a hand to his thigh for a little squeeze.

The palm branches were distributed amongst them, and everyone began tearing at the leaves. One woman instructed the group on how to weave the leaves into a bowled structure. Then the stalks of the branches were splintered into several sturdy strips, useful for tying. Richard was impressed. He couldn’t tell if this was knowledge that had just been invented to satisfy the needs of their current plight, or if this was a skill these people already seemed to posses. But they certainly seemed very adept at it now. He followed along, listening closely to the instruction, his hands eventually falling into a rhythm.

Conversation began to bubble up amongst the group, everyone carefully avoiding the subject of Trevor and making an effort to keep the conversation light. Camille joined in easily, and Richard silently marveled once again at her skill for personal interaction. It was a gift he had always lacked. For the most part, he didn’t know how to relate to people unless he was interviewing them for an inquiry. Polite chit-chat was never his strong suit. He was happy to stay quiet and let Camille dominate the conversation as the ambassador from his area of the bench.

This didn’t last long, however, because when one member of the group mentioned needing to combine some of these ropes for a new laundry line, Camille shot up with a gasp and said, “I almost forgot!”

His curiosity piqued, Richard watched her scurry over to the laundry station again and bend to retrieve the item she had left in the embers. She yanked her hand away instinctually when it burned her and asked to borrow one of the cloths from the laundry pile. She bundled it up as a sort of oven mitt and then grabbed for the thing again, turning her back to Richard swiftly to conceal the item from him. Clever girl; she could tell that his eyes were on her.

She fussed with something out of view for a little while, seeming to pull something from her pocket, then in a carefully executed twist, she turned to face him again in the same moment that she moved the thing behind her back. He tried to sneak a glimpse, but she was too quick. She smirked coyly and approached him.

“Now do I guess?” he asked once she was near enough.

“ _No_ ,” she replied. “Close your eyes.”

Acutely aware of the many pairs of eyes on the two of them in that moment, Richard worked very hard not to smile at her. He pinched his lips together and closed his eyes with a slightly petulant sigh. He held out his hands expectantly, but nothing came to them. He was starting to grow suspicious after a while until he began to notice something: a very distinct, very beautiful, once familiar fragrance began to flood his senses in happy reunion. He knew that smell. He knew that smell like he knew his own name.

In a rush, Richard was opening his eyes and looking down at the steaming cup being held under his nose. “I-….wha-…how did you?” he stammered, hands coming up slowly, reverently, to take the tin cup into his hands, nestled in the warm cloth. He sniffed in the fragrance of the tea indulgently, his eyes fluttering shut under its spell. “How did you manage...?” he started again, still incapable of forming a single complete sentence. “Where did this come from?” There. That one worked.

Camille was giggling at his reaction, along with several others around the group. “In the food pantry at the school, they had a box of PG Tips and I pocketed a few bags while you were on lookout.”

“PG Tips? A few _bags_?!” he repeated, gob smacked. “You have _more_?”

She nodded, laughing again at his childlike wonder. “Four teabags.”

His eyes widened comically at the revelation. She might as well have told him she knew the location of the Holy Grail. “Four teabags,” he repeated in a trance, looking down into the rich, earthy goodness in his hands. Then, unable to stop himself, his mind calculated what she had just said. “The school pantry…that was six days ago!” To think that Camille had hidden this treasure in her pocket, right under his nose for nearly a whole week was mind boggling to him.

Her mirth dropped as her expression steeled into something else. “ _Oui_. Six days. Are you complaining?” she challenged.

Richard was shaking his head adamantly before the words were even out of her mouth completely. “No no. Not at all. Not complaining, simply observing,” he answered hastily, quite mindful that there were still three teabags in his potential future and that he ought to behave if he wanted a chance of getting them. She held all the proverbial cards at the moment and it certainly wouldn’t do to have her feeling insulted. “Six days,” he said, in a much lighter tone, jutting his lip out and nodding his head. “Huh, that’s really…something.”

A smile crept back onto her face as she watched him scramble to salvage his good standing. Sometimes, he read just like a book. She finally laughed and said, “Just drink, you silly man.” At this command, the other women in the group all nodded and voiced various agreements.

Richard didn’t have to be told twice. He dipped his head and took in another indulgent sniff, letting the fragrance leap and play all along his olfactory nerves, in no rush. With heavily-lidded eyes, he slowly, sacredly, lifted the cup to his lips for a chaste kiss, sipping in the warm liquid with languid speed. He groaned as the old sensation slipped down his throat once again. Somewhere, off in the distance, he was aware that people were laughing at him, but he gave no care.

“Sorry ladies, it’s no use. He isn’t with us anymore,” he heard Camille state, which was rewarded by another round of chuckles.

He stayed in the bliss of that cup of tea, ignoring all other life around him, only vaguely aware when Fidel and Dwayne approached with more bundles of branches and to collect what ropes had already been completed.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dwayne asked in amazement.

Camille told him about the pantry and how she had snagged a few bags for Richard.

“Oh wow,” Fidel chuckled, watching as the chief marinated in his moment. 

A few other people came and went, and Richard took no notice of them. At some point, the bowl he had been working on (and had consequently abandoned) was taken from his lap and presumably continued by someone else. He nursed that cup for as long as possible, bitterly wounded by the necessity of drinking it before it cooled down fully. When he tipped the cup against his lips in the final gulp, he jutted his tongue out obscenely to lick away the last drops from the inside of the cup. He heard a very French snort from his side.

When he rejoined the land of the conscious, he looked around to notice that the branches had all been stripped and the final leaves were transforming into bowls. Somehow, he had missed the whole project. Ronnie and Holden had come over to help gather up the residual stalks from the branches and bundle them for future use in some other project. A few feet away, Dwayne and Fidel were experimenting with the best method of tying the sharpened branches together to create the first stage of the barricade. Beside him, Camille was sitting with a soft smile, finishing her last bowl. 

“Welcome back,” she said, eliciting a few chuckles from all around.

Richard shook his head at her in wonder, like the heavens had sent him an angel. “Thank you,” he said profoundly.

She laughed again and shook her head. “Here,” she said, plopping another set of leaves in his lap and taking the cup from his hands. “Make yourself useful again.”

“I would hang on to the bag,” he said hastily, feeling the absence left by the cup as soon as she removed it from him. “We could maybe get another cup or two out of it.”

Camille nodded, looking down into the cup. “Did you want another one now?”

Yes. Always yes. He obviously wanted another one now. Silly question. But he somehow managed to keep himself from immediately saying so. “No,” he said with a great deal of effort. “No, we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Once is fine for now.”

“You sure?” Camille grinned, tempting him by wafting the cup, with the soaked teabag still inside, underneath his nose.

He pushed her away. “Quite sure. Every man must know how to restrain himself when the time comes.”

“Hmm, speaking of restraint,” Catherine’s voice rose from somewhere to his other side. When did she get there? “I notice you’ve been sleeping with my daughter.”

Richard choked, sputtering forward in a fit, gagging on nothing in particular. The vein on his forehead bulged and his face was dyed a deep red, in part due to the coughing fit, in part due to the mortification from the woman’s frank accusation. Once again, he was aware of the suppressed giggles happening all around him.

Camille patted and rubbed his back soothingly, encouraging him to recover. “ _Maman_ , don’t tease him,” she chastised, though her voice remained a little fond.

“I don’t tease, darling!” Catherine defended, but there was satisfied validation in her tone. “You know I approve.”

Richard sat up, a hand over his heart while he worked to settle his reaction. He couldn’t help but feel slightly unnerved when Catherine reached up to tenderly correct his hair that had been mussed in his retching.

But Catherine seemed to be having good fun. “I always knew he would figure it out eventually. All it took was the end of the world.”

The hint of playful derision in that comment was impossible to miss, and Richard felt himself blushing more deeply. “Yes, well…” he said, reaching up to pat down the tie he wasn’t wearing. He looked up and noticed the gleeful, knowing expression that was passing between Fidel and Dwayne a few yards away. It was the same look that was also passing between Ronnie and Holden much nearer. The other people scattered around were all suppressing smiles too, though doing a much better job at it. He looked over to Camille for rescue.

She reached for his hand sympathetically, giving it an encouraging squeeze as she shot to her mother, “ _Assez! Vous allez lui faire peur._ ”

To which Catherine replied, “ _Où ira-t-il? Un homme ne peut pas quitter son coeur._ ”

Richard suddenly felt like the only soul on the island who couldn’t understand French.

“Richard? Do you need a drink of water?” Camille asked, a bit hinting.

Relieved for the escape, Richard nodded. “Yes. I think that’d be good.”

He rose from the log and Camille helped him up the incline towards the mouth of the cave. A subdued chorus of laughter erupted behind them as they made their retreat. Richard almost turned to look over his shoulder, but Camille stopped him. “Ignore it,” she said, pulling him along. 

They made it into the cave and Camille led him to the water station. While the responsible leader in him felt guilty having another drink, he had to also admit that a bit of water would actually be useful right now. His throat was very dry and scratchy from the coughing fit. Such a pity, after that lovely cup of tea. Camille handed him a small portion of water, just enough for a swallow, and watched him as he drank.

“It is a little strange, no?” she ventured after a while.

“That your mother enjoys my discomfort? No. I’d say it’s a family trait, in fact,” Richard replied.

“No, I mean…” She shrugged a little meekly, her eyes searching around the cave for the words she wanted to use. “People talk about us like we’re a couple. The whole camp thinks of us as one. We act like one. We spend every night in each other’s arms…”

Richard looked away from her when she said that, unable to restrain the heat he felt return to his cheeks at the truthfulness of those words. Falling asleep with Camille in his arms had quickly become his favorite part of life. And he had hoped that he could simply go on enjoying it without ever being confronted about it or having to supply an answer for it. Now that the other shoe was dropping, he felt embarrassed at the prospect of vocalizing exactly how much those nights meant to him. These felt like dangerous (yet serene) waters indeed, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he had let himself drift into them for so long. Anxiety started to build in his chest.

Camille cocked her head a little to the side, studying his reactions with interest. “And yet…we’ve never spoken of a relationship. Never so much as kissed.”

That thought made his heart jolt. “You want me to kiss you, is that it?” It came out a lot more smart-aleck than he had intended, but inwardly, his organs were doing summersaults and he couldn’t quite measure his responses. Still, he was proud of himself for not sputtering or stammering the question at least, suggesting he was capable of some composure after all.

“I’m _saying_ I think we should have an honest conversation soon, don’t you? Decide what we want this to be.”

Richard nodded a little, contemplatively, looking down at his now empty cup. “So…” he said hesitantly, trying to discern if there was a subtext to her words he should be noticing, “…you _don’t_ want me to-”

“If you want to kiss me, Richard,” she said frankly, moving closer to him just enough to get his eye line to return to her. She held his gaze for several exaggerated seconds, securing his undivided attention for what she had to say next. “Don’t be afraid to,” she concluded resolutely.

And with those words, Camille Bordey appeared to slow down time. Richard searched her expression seriously, on the hunt for any twitch that might contradict her words. But all he saw was steely confidence, a hint of challenge, and a look of eager invitation. They stared at one another for a long moment after that, something new formulating between them: understanding, agreement, something explicit that hadn’t been there before. Finally, there were no games, there wasn’t innuendo or suggestion; she had said it plainly, and he had gotten the message.

As they stood there in silence, watching each other accept this new, shared understanding, one of the children of the camp approached them. It was Lukas, one of Ronnie’s sons. “Mr. Poole, I have a plan for how to beat the aliens,” the boy declared.

Richard didn’t break eye contact with Camille, but slowly nodded. “I will keep that in mind, Sergeant Bordey,” he said seriously. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course, sir,” she replied, the barest hint of a smile at her mouth. Knowing their conversation couldn’t continue just yet, she turned to leave, and her smile grew as she heard Richard say to the boy, “Technically, they’re not aliens.”

* * *

He kissed her that night, shrouded once again in the comforting security of nightfall. As they were settling themselves into their mossy little nest, Richard propped himself up on his elbow and carefully spread the blanket out to cover both of them, tucking the edge under her shoulder, as was his custom. Then, before he lay down onto his back, he hovered over her a while longer, letting his hand come up to close around her cheek in the darkness. She stilled at his touch, knowing, waiting. He drew a thumb over her cheekbone tenderly, contemplating. She had told him not to be afraid, and so before he could talk himself out of it, he dipped his head and finally gave her the kiss that had been on his mind for years.

The contact was startling at first, and they both demonstrated a certain amount of timidity at the start. He pecked at her mouth in one, two, three tiny kisses, which she returned just as chastely. Then he felt her hand reach up to his cheek, pulling him down to her mouth again and holding him there longer. He sighed against her cheek and felt his shoulders relax as she began to work at his lips. 

They were slow, and lazy, and indulgent. He would be lying if he said the quiet moan she released when he opened his mouth some time into the kiss didn’t inspire a surge of confidence in him. He deepened the kiss as a shiver rattled up his spine, scooping his arm beneath her shoulders and pulling her against him, while his other hand searched out her hip. Her own hands snaked up his chest and landed somewhere around his neck. Her mouth teased and delighted him, birthing within him a version of himself he had never met before, but who he somehow knew existed all along. The taste and the feel of her along his tongue were more thrilling than he had thought to expect, and he dove into her hungrily, enticing more sounds from deep within her and letting a few of his own escape.

It was the most incredible feeling in the world, not specifically the kiss (although that was certainly breathtaking), but the mere fact that this woman wanted it, from him. This incredible woman was giving this moment to him freely, and even more astonishing: she was enjoying it. Richard felt lightheaded by the time the kiss concluded, and he wasn’t quite certain if it was from ecstasy or oxygen deprivation.

He looked down at her in the darkness and suddenly realized that she was petting him, soft strokes across his cheek and sometimes down his neck. He already wanted to kiss her again, but something in him thought it wouldn’t be prudent. Even without any light, he could sense that she was smiling at him.

“What?” he whispered, and then he could hear the smile grow wider.

He felt one of her fingers come up to tenderly swipe over his lips as she said, “You kiss like a Frenchman.”

“Oh god,” was Richard’s reaction, and he dipped his forehead down into the slope of her shoulder. Camille let out a laugh that clipped through the recesses of the cave and Richard instinctually threw a hand up to clasp over her mouth.

“Shhhh” he told her, a smile on his lips despite himself. “People are sleeping,” he chided, feeling her hushed giggles vibrate against his hand. Well, there was obviously only one thing to do. He moved his lips just below her ear and started nibbling, dropping wet kisses to her throat.

Camille moaned against his hand, and then it was Richard who was the one chuckling. “Shhh,” he said again into her ear. “That’s no better.”

Camille reached up and removed his hand from her mouth. “And what are you going to do about it?” she whispered at him.

Obviously, he kissed her squarely on the mouth again after that, swallowing all of her noises, and thriving off of every single one, like a starving man at a feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of us who ship Richard/Camille, I know you've been waiting a long time to see some actual action between these two goofballs. So hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. I won't lie, it was easily one of the very first things I wrote for this whole story, so I was excited to finally reach this moment in the narrative. I hope you found it fulfilling. I want to hear your thoughts!
> 
> In case you didn't look it up on your own, here are the English translations to the French dialogue in this chapter (at least according to Google. I don't actually know how to speak French, so I have no idea if this is accurate. If you do, and you have a correction I should make, please don't hesitate to speak up).
> 
> Camille: Enough! You'll scare him away.  
> Catherine: Where will he go? A man cannot leave his heart.
> 
> Another fun little tidbit about this chapter is the reference to PG Tips. It's personally my favorite brand of tea, and it has also appeared briefly on the show. A box of PG Tips tea was among the gifts Richard's parents sent to him for his birthday in episode 105 "Spot the Difference." In the very last scene, when Camille and the gang find Richard asleep in his chair, a box of PG Tips can be found on the table beside him, right next to the new tie, pair of socks, and various other little gifts from his parents. 
> 
> So, it's canon that Richard drinks PG Tips (which makes me really excited as it's something we have in common), but the fact that his parents had to ship it to him from the UK suggests that it's pretty hard to come by on the island. That fact kind of makes it hard to believe that a primary school cafeteria would have a whole BOX of them, which sort of shoots holes in my using them in this story. But whatever, I just pretend that the school had an English teacher on staff that insisted on that particular brand.


	15. Sustainability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad! My uploading schedule has gotten all out of whack, and I apologize. It has proven more difficult than I originally thought to upload on a regular, every-other-day schedule. For those of you still hanging on, I really appreciate your continued reading and commenting. I promise that this story is complete, so come what may, I WILL post every single chapter in time. I just ask for your continued patience. And in the meantime, I hope you keep enjoying the story.
> 
> This chapter sort of acts as the final bridge between Act Two and Act Three, which is why there are a few notable time jumps in it. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Fifteen: Sustainability

It didn’t take long after her arrival for Camille to be accepted as a fourth member of the camp’s leadership. Her own people, of course, had been relying on her as a leader for several months now, but the other cave survivors warmed up to her quick enough. Richard was pleased to watch the way the two groups eventually blended together so well. There was perhaps a bit of territorialism and discord between the two factions at the very beginning, but after a few conversations (Camille with her trouble makers and Richard with his), those problems seemed to go away. They were only a few weeks into the union and both groups were starting to act as one.

While that was developing, a second union was also beginning to take shape. It felt just like old times, having Camille back as a partner. Of course, their job description looked a little bit different this time around, but the two of them nevertheless fell into an easy rhythm of working together again. Richard enjoyed having someone with her interpersonal skills on the team. Of course, he had tried to fulfill that role somewhat in her absence, actively trying to become more sympathetic and patient, but there was nothing like watching an old pro at work. The people loved her, immediately. And it wasn’t hard to see why.

Camille had a way of commanding respect without demanding it. She heard people, their complaints, their suggestions, their perspectives, and every time, the person knew they were being heard. Camille soon became the portal through which the general members of the group would bring their concerns to Richard, Holden, and Ronnie. She became their advocate. If anyone had a problem with the way things were being run, or if they objected to a decision that was made, they knew they could voice these opinions to Camille and she would petition her fellow leaders on their behalf. And in times when their concerns or objections were unreasonable, she would quietly deal with the matter herself without bringing it to the other three for official consideration. In that way, the people came to love her, and Richard, Holden, and Ronnie came to appreciate how she served as a gatekeeper between them and the rest of the group.

Richard and Camille steadily became a little less inseparable around this time as well, feeling a comfort with one another that allowed them to be apart for increasing periods of time, knowing that they would come right back together soon afterwards. There wasn’t that feeling of desperation and panic anymore. As long as they didn’t leave the mountain, they felt reasonably sure that they wouldn’t lose each other the moment they left one another’s sight, and Richard considered this a noteworthy step forward in their relationship. Camille would lead bathing teams of women up to the springs for most of the day, but Richard would survive these days with the knowledge that she would come home in the evening, and they would kiss and cuddle and touch when the lights went down.

That was as far as it ever went. There was, of course, a whole host of other things Richard wanted to do with her, but they always made themselves stop before things went too far. There was only so much you could get away with in a shared living space, after all, and they were both conscious that there were kids around.

* * *

A little over a week later, two more people joined their company by following the X. Sisters, who had not come from Honoré but from Taiguey which rested just a few miles east of Richard’s old shack on the beach. They had definitely traveled farther than anyone else in the group, and tales of their journey astounded the whole camp for many days after their arrival. The following week, a larger group of eight finally made it up out of Honoré.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Fidel said one evening over the camp meal, a meager feast of coconut, breadfruit, sapodilla, and boiled palm tree core. He and Juliette sat near Richard and Camille, with the two men sitting side by side and their respective ladies flanking them. Extending the half circle outward, Holden and Dwayne sat nearby as well.

“Go on,” Richard said, blowing on his palm core and then passing a piece to Camille before dropping the other piece into his mouth.

“I did a head count this morning; we have sixty-one people now.”

“Did you say _sixty-one_?” Camille asked in disbelief, causing Fidel to only nod.

“That’s incredible. How many people came with you?” Holden asked Camille.

“Thirteen,” she answered.

Everyone was quiet for a second while they all crunched the numbers in their heads. “Sixty-one sounds about right then,” Richard stated with a nod, and then he cast a glance back at Fidel. “You’re building to something; what is it?”

“Well, sir, Owen was saying about our scavenging trips, they’re having to spread out a lot further into the jungle now in order to find fruit that’s ripe enough to eat. We’ve stripped all the trees near the camp totally bare.”

“This is still build up, Sergeant,” Richard said, although he thought he knew what Fidel was meaning to suggest.

“Yes, sir. It’s just that, sixty-one people is a lot to feed. I think we need to consider more sustainable food resources.”

Richard quirked a brow. “Meaning…”

“A garden,” the other man finally finished.

“A garden?” Dwayne repeated, a little critically. But Richard, Camille, and Holden were all exchanging contemplative looks.

“Gardens are hard to cultivate in the jungle,” Richard said, trying to prompt Fidel to say the thing they both knew he wanted to say.

“That’s why we wouldn’t do it on the mountain.”

Bingo. Richard’s stomach turned.

“There’s a grassy area, just outside the city. The ground is soft enough there, and it’s out from under the jungle canopy so it should get plenty of light. Plus, we should be coming up on the rainy season soon. If we wanted to plant a garden, this would be the time to do it.” Fidel finished his pitch and everyone grew silent.

Richard felt several pairs of eyes carefully watching him, wondering if his old prejudices against sending teams down into the city still held, or if he had come to form a different opinion since his supply run with Ronnie and Camille. It’s true that his time down in Honoré had demonstrated to Richard the likelihood of surviving that city. And having Camille and her people as a part of his team certainly meant that they had a better understanding of how to navigate that part of the island safely. So, while Richard thought he might be a little more open to the idea of sending more teams down into Honoré for continued supply runs, the thought of going and building a garden there was altogether a different proposition. After all, gardens required regular upkeep and attention. This wouldn’t be a matter of sending a few people into crypto territory for a day; this was about sanctioning teams to enter into dangerous situations every single day, for hours at a time. On top of that, they’d be digging.

Richard came out of his thought process when he felt a nudge at his shoulder. He looked down to see Camille was offering him a piece of her breadfruit. As he took it, she answered for him.

“It sounds like a very promising idea, Fidel. We will talk about it with Ronnie tonight.” As she said this, she passed a glance to both Holden and Richard. Both men nodded in agreement and she smiled reassuringly at Fidel in response.

* * *

“He’s right,” Ronnie said several hours later. “All of our nearby resources are getting low. Even the water lines at the plantation are starting to grow week; there is no telling how much longer they will hold out. We are about to run out of the island’s good graces, unless we do something to protect ourselves.”

“I had a feeling that’s what you were going to say,” Richard said, crossing his arms and casting his eyes over towards the mouth of the cave while most people withdrew inside for the night. Several people looked over at the meeting as they made their way inside. He wondered if word had gotten out about the garden yet and if they knew that’s what was being discussed. Knowing this group, it was likely.

“You don’t approve?” Camille asked.

Richard pondered for a moment before confessing, “I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of all that digging, especially not so close to crypto territory. But it does seem like we’re running out of options.”

“There’s still the pantry,” Camille suggested. “Obviously, it won’t last forever, but we might as well focus on clearing it out before someone else does.”

Holden and Richard both nodded at this suggestion. “But we still have the problem of sustainability,” Ronnie observed.

Holden shrugged, snapping a twig in his hands distractedly. “Well, there’s really no way around it, is there? We need a garden. I agree with Richard that the risk is severe, but being relegated exclusively to the mountain limits our resources considerably. We’ve been able to scrounge up enough food to feed us daily, but if the group keeps growing, we won’t be able to meet the demand by just passively picking berries like we’ve been doing.”

“That’s not in dispute,” Richard noted. “We obviously need to come up with some way of growing our own food, but Honoré is just teeming with those things. If we try to dig right on the outskirts of the city, we’ll almost certainly draw them right to our doorstep. We might as well ring the dinner bell for them while we’re at it.”

“Why are we acting like Honoré is the only place to go?” Camille finally asked. The three men all stopped their various trains of thought and turned to her. “There are plenty other areas of the island that would be fit for growing things. Yes, we would have to get off of the mountain in order to find good soil, but if we exit Mt. Esmee on the northern or southern sides, the soil would be just as soft, and they would be further away from the heavily populated parts of the island. There’s a chance the ‘cryptos’ won’t be in those areas. Or in the very least, there might be less of them.”

The longer Camille talked, the more her cohorts nodded at her logic. “All it would take is a few scouting trips to find a good spot,” Ronnie said, looking to Richard.

The detective held his chin thoughtfully, weighing the risks against the rewards. While Honoré was a known threat, other parts of the island were large question marks. There was no way of knowing if they were actually safer, just as bad, or even worse than the dangers of Honoré. Seeing as how humans seemed to be the cyptos’ favorite meal, it stood to reason that they would keep to the more populated cities, therefore leaving the undeveloped parts of the island safer. There was also the chance that this unexplored part of the island was just as infested as Honoré. There was really only one way of finding out. “Alright,” Richard said at last. “Two scouting trips, one to the north and one to the south first thing tomorrow morning. See what shakes out.”

“Smashing,” Holden said, and they all started moving towards the cave entrance. “Brilliant idea, Camille. I honestly don’t know how we never thought of it before.”

“It was Fidel’s idea,” Camille said modestly. “I just suggested we move it.”

“At any rate, good to have you on the team,” the doctor concluded.

“Agreed,” Ronnie echoed.

Richard smiled at her, loving the way she preened slightly at the praise. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him as they walked together, craning his neck to plant a kiss on her cheek. With all of the members of the general public inside the cave, it was only Holden and Ronnie around, and Richard had failed to see the merit in hiding any of this from them a while ago. Besides, he knew Camille loved it when he did this sort of thing openly. It didn’t happen often. True to form, she blushed in his grasp and gave him a look he rather liked as they approached the mouth of the cave.

* * *

Richard sighed against her shoulder while she lapped at his earlobe. They had both gotten very good at doing this without vocalizations, keeping their rustling to a minimum. Richard was floating and he floundered around for an anchor, finding one at her hand and threading his fingers through hers. He wished she would do that thing she had done a few nights ago, where she crossed one leg over him. He had liked that, liked feeling the weight of her; it grounded him.

He reached below the blanket in a haze, his hand seeking out her leg while her mouth continued to own him. His fingers graced over their target and she instantly pulled away with a noise of rebuttal, snapping him out of his ecstasy.

“Don’t touch my legs,” she told him in a whisper.

Richard’s eyes blinked open and he propped himself up on his elbow, feeling reality return to normal. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are they…painful?” he asked, trying to remember if she had somehow injured her legs that day, or if he had noticed any sort of skin irritation.

Camille hesitated a moment and then said, “…No.”

Richard quirked his head a little to the side at that admission. “Are they…ticklish?” he tried again, now with piqued curiosity.

Again, she hesitated before answering. “…No,” she said, playing with the collar of his shirt. It hung loosely open due to her having unfastened several of his buttons in her exploration that night.

“Hmm…” he said studiously, a detective once more. While he considered the evidence, he slowly reached out beneath the blanket again and his fingertips touched her leg once more. She pulled away with a yip and a warning. He smiled to himself, “And you’re sure it’s not that second one?”

“They’re not ticklish. They’re just…”

“They’re just…” he prompted, dipping his head and his voice.

“…Hairy,” she finally admitted.

Now, Richard was thoroughly amused. “Hairy?” he repeated.

“Yes hairy,” she replied with an edge of grumpiness at his obvious irreverence. “Don’t touch them.”

He tipped his forehead against hers. “But I want to touch them.”

She shoved him away, but it didn’t feel harsh. “Ew, no you don’t! It’s gross, Richard. It’s been months.”

“Gross is rather in the eye of the beholder, I should think. And anyway, I thought French women were supposed to be progressive when it came to body hair.”

“I am progressive!” the woman defended. “I believe it is a matter of preference, and women should be free to do whatever they want with their bodies. But I like to shave mine.”

He dipped his head to her again, nuzzling his nose against her cheek and up over her temple, hovering over her and teasing her with a kiss that wouldn’t land. “What if I like you just as you are? Can’t I touch you then?”

She sighed and tipped her mouth up towards him, frustrated when he skirted away to a different part of her face. “Mmm…you can touch other things,” she offered, falling under his spell.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she answered, and then gasped.

He hushed her from behind a cruel smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Nobody asked for this, but here is a link to a post I made on Tumblr explaining how I came up with the name "Taiguey" as a fictional town in St. Marie (which I mention near the start of the second scene in this chapter). ( https://monker4444.tumblr.com/post/187204133484/finding-taiguey ) This is the type of fun research that always fascinates me, but I understand would probably bore a lot of other people. So click the link if you're interested, and ignore it if you're not.
> 
> This chapter finally concludes Act Two. The next chapter is one of my favorites in the entire story (I keep saying that, but it's always true)! So I am REALLY excited for you to read it! In the meantime, what did you think of this one?


	16. A Lover, not a Fighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act Three, all ye who enter.

Chapter Sixteen: A Lover, not a Fighter

The first time they made love was not at all how he imagined it would be; namely because it happened on a log, in the middle of the jungle, with Richard exposed through his trousers and cupping his hands on either side of his lap to give Camille’s knees a sort of stirrup to ride. (Had he retained anything close to control over his mental process, he might have smugly congratulated himself at having been allowed to touch her legs. But as things stood, he was completely incapacitated at the moment.) And it didn’t last long, which was probably for the best, considering that they were supposed to be checking on the traps and not getting frisky on a fallen tree. Richard’s forehead beaded with sweat as he grimaced to prolong his resolve for as long as he could. When she reached her peak, that endeavor was made almost impossible. “Camille, don’t let me,” he barely had the presence of mind to say. “Please. We can’t…we can’t risk it.”

She didn’t risk it, and a carnal part of Richard’s mind roared in protest the moment she stood. But whatever brutish frustration Richard felt quickly turned to gob smacked surprise when Camille instantly dropped to her knees and…. Richard lost all account of everything at that point and his vision whited out behind pinched lids. When he regained his bearings, and his heart rate slowly normalized, he was left with one hand desperately clutching the log beside him and the other softly curled around the back of Camille’s neck.

He looked down at her, panting, and god if it wasn’t the most beautiful he had ever seen her, smiling up at him coyly as she sat back on her haunches and wiped her mouth subtly.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Richard said, exhausted and aghast.

“I can’t believe it took me this long to do that,” Camille replied, smug and amused.

They both stood up and started to gather their composure again. Richard had difficulty looking her in the eye and he couldn’t exactly place why. He was mixed between the euphoria of what they had just experienced, and the indignity of the manner in which they had experienced it. Should he feel guilty? Did he force this somehow?

No. Richard’s recall of the last several minutes was crystal clear, and it was obvious to him that he was not working alone. Camille had instigated a fair amount of this on her own, and only expressed enthusiasm for it when he asked her if she was certain. And brief though they were, these last few minutes were easily the most exhilarating and, um, gratifying moments he had ever spent with a woman. Still, something about having intercourse in the middle of the jungle, with the birds and the bugs all watching felt…indecent, and Richard wondered if it was right for him to have enjoyed it as much as he did. He grew shy as he tucked himself away and did up the zipper on his trousers, standing from his place on the log. “Thank you,” he told her sheepishly.

Camille stepped into her shorts and pulled them up her legs. “I don’t need any thanks, Richard. I didn’t owe you anything.”

“No, I know that; that’s why I’m thanking you.”

“But…” she paused to formulate the words, clasping her button and then brushing her hands together to knock away the little bits of twig and dirt from the pads of her hands. “I wasn’t doing you a favor either. This wasn’t some kind of transaction or exchange. It was love.” She did not miss his surprised gaze as it shot her way like a lightning bolt. Camille softened at his expression and cupped his cheek, rubbing a thumb tenderly over his cheekbone. “And we made it together,” she finished. 

Camille kissed him again, and Richard was ruined. He fell apart in that kiss, though it was small and though it was chaste, because she had spoken of love, and for the first time ever in his life, he believed it could be true.

They walked through the jungle hand in hand, then later, arm in arm, checking on the traps one at a time and coming up mostly empty handed. But that was hardly a concern now. Richard was still blissed out from their experience, and most of all from that word.

* * *

Several of the traps had been sprung, but their quarry had somehow escaped. Richard rubbed his hands with a piece of coal he brought with him and then reset the trap with fresh bait. Ronnie had told him the coal was a good way of masking his scent before handling any of the traps, that way not discouraging the wildlife from approaching the alluring bait once the humans had left. It was delicate work, setting the trap just right. There had to be just enough tension on the line to allow the contraption to spring when it was tripped, but not enough to force a false positive at the first disturbance. With a steady hand and a good deal of patience, Richard managed to strike the right balance and they were able to move on to the next trap.

There were a total of thirty of them distributed amongst a two mile radius from the camp. The fourteenth and twentieth traps had successfully killed two rats. And as they approached the final trap, they were both rather shocked to find a sizable hutia kicking in its noose. The trap had caught the rodent by its neck and hoisted it into the air, as was its design. But the trap had obviously sprung recently, and the animal wasn’t dead yet.

“This is my least favorite part,” Camille said as they approached the trapped animal.

“Agreed,” Richard concurred, releasing her arm and stepping towards the trap.

Richard’s earliest experience killing something happened when he was just a boy. He had been riding his bicycle home from his piano lesson at Mrs. Thornwald’s house. This was back when Richard’s mother still held out hope that she could have a son who was gifted with music. Truth was, he didn’t mind the piano so much, but Mrs. Thornwald was an exceptionally mean woman who used to make him balance heavy books on the backs of his hands while he was playing to help strengthen his fingers. But to a ten-year-old boy, it would just end up straining the muscles in his little hands and bring on terrible cramps, making him very sore afterwards. The book would also block his view of what he was playing, resulting in many stumbles over the notes, stumbles which would consequently result in a smack to the back of Richard’s head from Mrs. Thornwald.

So Richard did not enjoy his lessons. He did, however, enjoy the bike ride home from them. The route involved an exhilarating hill which, on the way to Mrs. Thornwald’s house, had to be taken on foot and gave the boy quite the workout. But on the way home, Richard could just coast, feeling the wind pick up the locks of his hair. And sometimes, if he could get the balance just right, he would release the handle bars and hold out his arms like he was flying.

It was on the heels of one such a flight when Richard took his first life. It was a beautiful autumn day, and when he made it to the bottom of the hill, he had leant forward to take the handlebars again, swaying back and forth in lazy swerves aimed at smashing all of the crunchy brown and yellow leaves on the pavement. He had swerved to crush a particularly promising-looking leaf when he discovered too late that it wasn’t a leaf at all.

He hit the creature and his wheel skidded to the side, causing the boy to go tumbling head over heels up the curb and into the grass. He got a bloody lip and a scraped arm from the ordeal, but the toad he had hit was considerably worse off. Richard had run to check on the animal just as soon as he got his bearings, but it wasn’t a pretty sight.

He had felt awful, staring down at the little life he had just ended. He felt particularly guilty because he had gone out of his way to hit it. He had thought, of course, that he’d be hitting a leaf, but that didn’t change things much in Richard’s mind. He still felt the full weight of his actions.

It was a horrible feeling, killing something. It was a feeling that stuck with him into adulthood, and why, as he encountered a great deal more killing as he aged and especially as he entered his chosen field, Richard was never able to relate to the mindset of the many killers he would come to know. At ten, Richard had mourned for the toad he had squashed in the road. And now as a man, he couldn’t understand how someone could seek out that feeling, taking the life of another person. He knew that some people killed because they felt they had to, or they considered it an acceptable means to an all too tempting end. But what Richard could never understand were the ones who seemed to get some kind of pleasure from it. That was the part that was most baffling to him.

Of course, in the fight for survival out here in the wilderness, Richard had done considerably more killing than he ever had before. He had killed a fair share of cryptos, either in his own defense or in defense of someone else, and he had also killed many more creatures for food, such as this hutia. He didn’t relish either experience, but he could get over the guilt more readily where cryptos were concerned rather than what Richard perceived to be these “innocent” creatures, whose only crime was falling into a trap. The true pacifist might argue that the cryptos were just as innocent, adhering only to their most basic instincts as predator, but Richard couldn’t find that point of view, especially not when other people’s lives were on the line. 

So here he was, walking up to the trap and pulling out his knife. The hutia kicked and dangled at the end of the rope, sensing that its end was near. “I am sorry about this,” Richard told it quietly, then tried to ignore the quick cry it made.

* * *

Camille carried the two rats, swinging them by the tails in one hand with the other laced with Richard’s hand. The man’s other arm was curled up over the hefty, beaver-like rodent that he balanced on his shoulder. They both felt accomplished; the rats were a decent prize, but the hutia was a big score. There was a lot of meat on that animal, and it would feed a good portion of the camp. They both silently wondered if it was their turn yet. Red meat was rare in the camp’s diet, and there was never enough of it to share with the whole group each time, so a rotating schedule had been put in place, and you only got to enjoy the rare bit of protein when it was your group’s turn. Because she entered the rotation at a totally separate time as he, Camille and Richard found themselves in two separate groups, which meant they were inclined to share with each other when one of them was lucky enough in the rotation.

They walked in amiable silence, until coming across a familiar log. The pair glanced at each other playfully, Richard feeling heat come to his cheeks before casting his gaze back down at the jungle floor shyly. He heard the soft thump of two rats hitting the ground and then Camille was resolutely shoving the hutia off of Richard’s shoulder.

She backed him against a tree. “This time, I want to see you,” she ordered, her fingers coming up to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Richard was conscientious of the fact that his hands were filthy with coal and dried blood, but god, he wanted to touch her again.

And, as was becoming her custom more and more, Camille seemed able to read his mind. “It’s okay,” she said, and directed his hands to her own backside.

They kissed and fondled against that tree for quite some time. Both of their shirts were gone and they had traded places against the tree when they both noticed it at the same time. Richard broke the kiss and they halted their movements in unison.

They focused. They strained. They waited.

A buffeting hum. So faint. The breathy _whup-whup_ chopping they had both heard countless times, but which now sounded totally foreign to their ears. It increased in volume and as it did so, all doubt as to what it could be fell from possibility. Richard took a step back, then another, stepping farther away from the tree and looking straight up, peering through the sparse openings in the jungle’s thick canopy to try to catch a glimpse of the sky above, aware that Camille was doing the same beside him.

The sound roared above them, but no sight was seen. It reached its peak and then started dropping in volume, just as gradually as it had come.

Richard turned and looked at Camille, seeing his own drop-jawed expression reflected back at him. They paused for a second of dumbfounded awe, and then sprung into action. They dove onto their clothing and hastily dressed, picking up their quarry before grabbing each other by the hand again.

They ran all the way back to camp.

* * *

When they reached the camp, everyone was already in a state of chaos. Richard and Camille dropped the precious meat haphazardly by the gutting stone and then ran to meet their friends.

“Did you hear it? Did you see the helicopter?” Richard asked Lily Shaw frantically.

“The what?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“A helicopter!” Camille answered excitedly. “It flew right over the island!”

“No! When was this?”

“Just a few minutes ago. Richard and I ran straight here.”

“But hang on,” Richard said, realizing something. “If you didn’t see the helicopter, then what’s all the excitement about?”

Lily’s expression sobered. “There was an attack. The southern scouting group ran into a pack of cryptos.”

Richard reached out and grabbed Lily’s arm urgently. “Who?” he asked solemnly, not liking how the other woman looked at him like she pitied him.

“Fidel,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, act three begins. I'm desperate to know, you guys, what did you think of this chapter? It is definitely one of my favorite chapters I wrote for this story. So I am really eager to hear what stuck out to you. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	17. Fidel

Chapter Seventeen: Fidel

Richard and Camille barreled into the cave, their eyes darting across the interior of the cave and alighting on their friend in the same instant. A crowd of people were gathered around, but they parted when they saw the detectives approaching.

Holden was crouched beside Fidel, wrapping a bandage over the young sergeant’s head and face. Fidel’s face was almost completely obscured by the medical bandage, with only his mouth and left eye still visible. His shirt had been removed and across his chest, there were three large gashes that stretched from his shoulder to his hip. Despite being bloody, these wounds appeared to be relatively superficial, which was no doubt why Holden had yet to address them and was tending to Fidel’s head injury first.

Beside him, Fidel’s wife Juliette clutched his hand fervently against her chest and she wept. Quietly, ever so quietly, Fidel’s weak voice could be heard comforting her. “Shhh…” he told her, “It’s okay.”

To the side, Dwayne held little Rosie in his arms and watched on, and beside him, a very disheveled Owen cradled his own arm against his chest painfully.

“Doctor?” Richard asked, his voice barely choking past the frog that had built in his throat.

“He’s stable,” Holden said, not looking up from his work. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s stable.”

“Shhh, shh,” Fidel soothed again, delirious.

“What happened?” Richard demanded.

“We were attacked,” Owen supplied, a bead of sweat shooting down his face while he repositioned his shoulder uncomfortably. “Coming back from scouting the southern side of the mountain. A pack of them chased us up a tree, and we picked a few off from up there. Then one of them tunneled underneath us and uprooted the thing. The crash was…it rattled my brains a bit. I didn’t see what was happening to Fidel until after it was a few swipes in. I’m sorry,” he said, this time to Juliette. “I killed it as quick as I could.”

Ronnie stood from where he had been crouching beside Holden and landed a comforting hand onto Owen’s healthy shoulder. “You did good, Owen. You got both of you back home. That’s what matters.”

“What do you need, doctor?” Richard asked, wishing he was able to pull his gaze away from the lifeless, mangled form of his friend.

“I need to do my job, Inspector,” Holden answered, a little impatiently.

But Richard understood. “Alright people, clear out. Give the man some space,” Richard ordered, and slowly, the cloud of onlookers began to disperse. Only Richard, Camille, and Ronnie remained, along with Juliette, of course.

“What is your husband’s blood type, Mrs. Best? Do you know?” Holden asked.

“Yes, B-Positive. Same as me,” she answered, wiping some of the tears from her eyes.

Holden nodded as he carefully tucked the end of the bandage into itself. “Do you have any reason to believe you might be pregnant?”

She shook her head confidently. “No. Not since…all this…”

Some unnamable embarrassment flooded Richard’s chest at hearing that admission, and he cast a surreptitious glance at Camille by his side, but she wasn’t watching him.

The doctor continued, “Would you be willing to-”

“Yes,” Juliette answered, even before the doctor could ask the question.

“Camille, can you please bring Mrs. Best something to eat? Something rich in iron, if we have it. And some water.”

“We just brought back some red meat,” Richard said, even as Camille left to raid the food supply.

“Good, how quickly can we get that prepared?”

“On it,” Ronnie said, turning to go gut and strip the animals Richard and Camille had left at the gutting stone.

“With how little we’ve all been eating lately, I worry about putting you through a transfusion,” Holden told Juliette, his voice growing slightly distracted, dropping a hand to feel Fidel’s pulse. “But…I’d feel better if we could balance out his levels a little more.” He didn’t look up to see her reaction, didn’t take in anybody’s response whatsoever as a matter of fact, and just transitioned to addressing the chest wound.

The doctor turned to his supplies, grabbed some gauze and a bottle of alcohol and began to poor it liberally into the nastiest of the three wounds. The police officer cried out and made some effort to writhe away, but Richard dropped to his knees to hold the other man down.

“It’s okay. Shhh. It’s helping. It’s helping you,” Richard said as he restrained him.

Holden cleaned all three wounds and then hastily injected the last of their local anesthetic before he began to stitch the biggest slash closed. Most of his face was obstructed by the bandaging, but the way Fidel’s left eye pinched tightly shut seemed to indicate a pained grimace underneath.

Richard continued to hold him down, though Fidel was struggling against him less and less. Juliette had lain down by his side, had her lips against his ear, and was whispering soothing secrets to her husband. These private words seemed to be calming him, even as Holden sutured his skin back together, and Richard marveled at it. Once again, Fidel Best had found a way to impress his boss mightily. Richard felt certain that, if he had been in Fidel’s shoes, he would not be putting on such a brave face.

When the doctor had finished his stitching, he covered the wounds with fresh gauze and then began to wrap Fidel’s chest. Their bandages were running low, having used a lot of them on Fidel’s face wound. “Do we have anything else to tie with?” Holden asked Richard as he tucked the end of the bandage into itself.

“This is clean,” a man said from behind them. He tossed a shirt at Richard, who caught it deftly.

He had told the people to scatter, but apparently that hadn’t kept some of them from listening in. Good thing, too. Richard handed Holden the shirt and the doctor used it to tie the dressing into place. When that was finished, they both sat back on their haunches and looked at each other.

“What now?” Richard asked.

“Nothing. I keep an eye on him. In a few hours, when Mrs. Best has had some nourishment, I’ll get the transfusion going. But for now, he just needs to rest.”

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Actually yes,” Holden said, his brows rising with the optimism of being able to say that. “We can’t collect the donation in a blood bag, but we should have what we need for a direct line between the patients. It was part of the load you brought back from Honoré.”

Richard nodded, surprised by the rare bit of good news.

Camille came back then and handed a can of beans to Juliette, along with a tin of water. The other woman hesitated, looking at the meal. It was earlier in the day than she was used to eating, and she had already had her water portion. Richard read her hesitation easily. “Go on,” he said gently, causing Juliette to look at him. “It’s okay.”

“Doctor’s orders, after all,” Holden agreed. With that, Juliette began to eat.

“Is there anything else we can do, Holden?” Camille asked.

“Not for now,” was his answer. He tidied up his medical supplies, using a spare rag to mop up the spilled alcohol and blood off of the cave floor. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said tucking his supplies under his arm and rising to his feet, “I have another patient to see. I didn’t like how Owen was cradling that arm.”

Richard turned to watch Holden’s retreat, and when his gaze returned, he saw Camille reach across to grab Juliette’s hand comfortingly. “Are you okay?” she asked the other woman.

Juliette nodded with a sniff. She looked down at her husband, a host of unreadable emotions parading across her face while she stared at his battered and broken form. “I just hate seeing him in pain,” she finally confessed, and the tears welled up again.

“I know, I can’t imagine,” Camille said, squeezing Juliette’s hand in the same moment that she lightly dropped her other hand onto Richard’s knee.

He couldn’t help the intake of breath he made in that moment. Because he could, of course, imagine it. That was the problem. The horrific was becoming easier and easier to imagine every day. And just as clearly as he could see Fidel’s mangled body in front of him, he could just as easily see Camille’s. And that unprovoked image caused his head to pound and his heart to race and all air to leave his lungs.

“Are you alright?” Camille asked when he started huffing heavily through his nose. Next, his eye was twitching, the cave was spinning, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, struggling to create words with the breath he didn’t have. “I need… I need some fresh…excuse me.”

He stumbled to his feet unsteadily, both Camille and Juliette reaching up to stabilize him. Then, trying not to make a scene, he held a hand over his heart while he quickly marched himself out of the cave.

Outside didn’t present much difference, except that the sun was brighter and contributed to the headache that was pounding away at his brain like a base drum. Despite trying not to cause a scene, he skidded down the slope of the cave’s exit a little clumsily, causing several pairs of eyes to look over to him. He waved at them and tried to smile in a way that didn’t look like a grimace and then turned off towards the jungle. With the camp at his back, Richard marched forward, bending over to pick up some firewood in a meager attempt to look purposeful.

He let his mouth gape widely open and gulped at the air like a caught fish. His mind instantly went back to his days at school. There was a boy in his year called Brightly who suffered from asthma attacks. But Richard had never exhibited signs of asthma, so what was happening?? Why did it feel like his heart was about to race from his chest, and that air couldn’t enter his lungs?

“Chief?”

Richard stumbled down to one knee, and in an instant, Dwayne was knelt in front of him.

“What’s happening? Are you choking?” Dwayne asked urgently.

But Richard shook his head. Choking involved an internal obstruction to the airways, and he was quite certain that wasn’t the problem.

“Okay, okay, look at me sir. Follow me. Go,” Dwayne took a long, drawn out intake of break through his nose.

Richard held eye contact with the other man desperately, following his example and breathing in a shaky breath, his nostrils flaring.

Dwayne nodded, opened his mouth, and then blew out that impressive breath slowly and smoothly. Richard followed. Dwayne reached out and corrected Richard’s posture, pushing back on his shoulders and keeping him from hunching over. “Good now,” and Dwayne did it again, in through the nose, out through the mouth, with Richard in close synchronization. They did this three more times.

When they were done, the violent redness in Richard’s face subsided to his normal pink hue. His heart rate also seemed to stabilize. He took a few experimental breaths, just to confirm that everything was working as it should be, then he looked up at Dwayne. “Thank you,” he said. “Where did you learn that?”

Dwayne shook his head, a little stunned. “I don’t know…it just…seemed like what you needed.”

Richard cocked an eyebrow. “Then…good instincts.”

Dwayne just nodded, looking at Richard with obvious reservation, like it might start up again at any moment. “You okay now?”

“I think so,” Richard responded, standing carefully, glad when his legs seemed to be solid again.

“What was that?” Dwayne asked, also standing.

Richard wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “I don’t honestly know. I just…started to…panic, for some reason.”

“Was it Fidel?” the other man asked after a beat of hesitation.

Richard snapped his eyes to Dwayne and was met with a look of knowing. “Yes,” he said, realizing that it was true.

Dwayne nodded perceptively. Suddenly the roles were reversed and he was the one putting the pieces together. “You feel guilty.”

Richard stared at his friend seriously, surprised and yet not surprised by that diagnosis. “Yes,” he confessed.

Dwayne nodded again. “I know,” he said. “I feel it too. We’re angry at ourselves for not being there. Not being able to stop it. I was here, chopping at those stupid logs to make the barricade.”

Richard nodded along with him. “I was…”

He looked up that moment to see Camille walking towards them. His mind jumped back to a time several hours ago, sprawled out on a log, falling apart as the world flashed white. That’s where he had been.

While Fidel had been in a fight for his life, Richard was having sex on a log. All the color blanched from his face.

“Are you okay?” Camille asked him, having finally reached the pair of them, and Richard couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

“He’s okay. Just a bit of a panic attack. But he’s better now.”

“You sure? He doesn’t look okay.”

“I’m fine,” Richard said, speaking with his normal gusto, which was something of a relief to all three of them. “I’m fine. As Dwayne said, I just…had a bit of a panic. But I’m okay now.”

Concern was still lingering on her face as she took a step closer. “Do you need to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t,” he said hastily, still not looking directly at her. “I only need…something to do.” And he bent and continued picking up spare twigs and branches for firewood. He was doing this and not watching the other two, so he missed the look of veiled concern that passed between them, or the nod Camille had made back towards camp that had effectively told Dwayne that she would take things from there.

Richard continued walking, gathering kindling and firewood as he went. He was aware that Camille had elected to join him, but the pair didn’t speak. They both worked for nearly half an hour, gathered two huge armfuls, and then walked them back to camp. After depositing their loads onto the elevated surface where they kept their firewood, Richard turned and went back out into the jungle for more. Camille followed.

They did this for five whole loads, neither saying a word, only managing eye contact a handful of times. They built the pile of firewood up to a sufficient height, especially considering the fact that an official detail would be assigned this exact project later in the day. They really just gave them a boost to get started.

Richard was clapping his hands together, knocking the dirt and jungle from his hands, when he felt Camille come up and hover by his shoulder.

“Do you need another task, or are you ready to talk to me?” she asked quietly.

Finally, he turned and looked at her. He said something to her, though not with his words, and she reached down to take his hand into hers. Silently, they walked back into the jungle together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit Richard is a dumb-dumb. But he means well. 
> 
> The next chapter is my favorite one for Camille, so I really hope you keep reading and continue to enjoy the story! Things are about to really get moving, so strap in.


	18. Chasing Tomorrow

Chapter Eighteen: Chasing Tomorrow

“I don’t know how to say it,” Richard finally confessed just as they made it to a rocky place far from camp. “I don’t have the right words.”

“So use the wrong ones,” Camille replied, letting go of his hand and going to sit on a boulder. She settled in, crossing her legs and perching one elbow on her elevated knee, and then just looked to him, and waited.

Richard sighed and turned away from her. He paced back and forth a little bit, clasping his hands behind his back, the way he often did when surveying a scene. By now, Camille understood his process, and so she didn’t push it, didn’t clear her throat, didn’t ask a provoking question, just…waited, even as the seconds stretched into minutes. Off in the distance, a gentle hum descended over the island.

“I’m conflicted,” he eventually stated, his pacing halted but his back still towards her. “I feel as though I’ve just gotten a bit of a wakeup call, and…I’m not altogether happy about it.”

“A wakeup call about…” he heard her prompt from behind him, and Richard could only hang his head in response.

“…about us, yes?”

With a soft sigh, he finally turned to look at her. “Yes…about us.”

Camille took in a long breath and set her jaw, straightening her shoulders slightly. It was a move she often made when she was growing defensive about something, and Richard recognized it well. Before she could reply beyond the subliminal, Richard asked, “Don’t you feel as though the timing might be a little off?”

“Oh, I think the timing was _way_ off, but not in the way you probably think,” she fired. 

Richard sighed, even while a part of him could concede that that was probably true. His mind raced to gather the evidence he needed to present his case, and for whatever reason, the next thing out of his mouth was, “Fidel and Juliette haven’t made love since the cryptos surfaced.”

Camille’s face showed the appropriate level of surprise at hearing that. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you hear it? Holden asked her if she could be pregnant, and she said-”

“No, I was there; I remember what she said. But I don’t see how that has anything to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with it, Camille. Because they’re right, aren’t they? Now is not the time for romance. This is…it’s a catastrophe, Camille. It’s a disaster that’s flung our whole world into chaos. We’re in a fight for our own survival.”

Camille opened her mouth to contribute something, but before she could get a word out, Richard asked her, “How long do you suppose we were out checking the traps today? Two hours? Two and a half maybe? For a task that should have taken us closer to one? But we felt no rush. We were _enjoying_ ourselves. We were seizing a rare moment alone. Meanwhile, our friend was out there getting mauled half to death, because _those_ are the stakes we’re up against! That is exactly the sort of thing that could happen to any of us, at any time, and we were flirting.” He pronounced this last part with more ire than he really wanted to, but he couldn’t spare himself the brutal verdict. It was true, after all. He sighed, disappointed in himself, and Camille remained silent. “Doesn’t that seem like we’ve gotten our priorities out of line just a bit?”

When Camille finally answered, her voice was steady and soft. “Fidel is my friend too, Richard. I love him just as much as you do, and it kills me to see him like that. But you know as well as I do that there was nothing we could have done to stop that from happening. And if it happened while we were seizing a bit of happiness, then I can’t see the problem with that.”

“It’s irresponsible…to have our heads in the clouds while there are people who need us here, on the ground, to lead them. You’re right, Camille; maybe we should have started this a long time ago. Maybe we should be married by now, but we didn’t start it then, we’re starting it now, and it’s wrong. It’s selfish and it’s irresponsible to start something now. Not when there are still so many lives depending on us. There are more important things we should be doing with our time. Not...trying to navigate a new relationship, and oh, _also_ the end of the world! I can’t _do_ both. I can’t lead them levelheadedly and be in love at the same time. It…splits me right down the middle. And if you can manage it, then my congratulations. Because I don’t know how.”

When he came to the end of his little rant, his limbs finally stilling after their emphatic gesticulation, he felt a little breathless. Not least of all because he had used at least two words in that speech that, two years ago, he never could have imagined saying to her. And yet saying them just now had felt like the most natural thing in the world, like seeing the sky and calling it blue.

“Then will you stop?”

Her question caught him off guard, and for a moment, all he could do was blink at her. “Pardon?” he said.

Camille finally stood from her seat on the rock and slowly sauntered up to him. “Will you stop loving me?” she asked, though she knew the answer already. They both did. And that was precisely the point she was making.

“Camille,” he said, and it sounded like a plea.

She continued her slow march towards him, breaching the wall he was trying so hard to erect between them. “Can you? Are you a robot after all, that you have some sort of switch you can flick and be done with it?” she challenged, stepping right up to him, leaving only inches between them.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, staring into her face in paralyzed desperation.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t kiss me,” he said, and he meant it, because if she kissed him now, he knew he would collapse, in principle and quite possibly in body.

Her eyes darted back and forth between his as she contemplated this request. “Alright,” she said presently. “If you won’t kiss me, you _will_ listen to me,” and she said it with such an air of authority that he was profoundly incapable of denying her. “Because I’ve heard all your reasons now, and I think they are horse shit.”

Still stunned in silence, that did cause both of his eyebrows to rise a bit. And for the fraction of an instant, he was flashing back to their first case together. _“From now on, you treat me with a little more respect, or I will be forced to forget I am a police officer.”_

“I don’t believe for one instant that this is some noble sacrifice, some mark of a great leader, that he’s willing to sacrifice his heart for the good of the people. This isn’t anything so altruistic; it’s common, simple, self-sabotage. You have never been this close to another person, and now that you finally are, you’ve realized it’s terrifying, and you want to pull out of it. Being in love scares you, because somewhere along the way, somebody convinced you that you don’t deserve that kind of happiness. Others do, but not you. And now that you finally have it, you feel guilty. You look around yourself and you see a world in chaos, as you said. And this chaos just makes your guilt feel worse. How dare you get to feel happiness when there is so much death and loss all around you? Am I right?”

She waited, almost like she expected him to answer, but she knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to.

“And you feel divided?” she continued, just as searing. “Like you can’t be in love and be a leader at the same time? You feel split down the middle? Let me tell you something, _monsieur_ : that isn’t because we are starting this _now_ instead of _then_. That would have happened regardless, because we are full people with full lives. If I wasn’t having to share you with a camp full of people trying to survive a monster attack, I would have been sharing you with a murder investigation, or a deadline, or a promotion, or a family reunion. Just because you get to love someone doesn’t mean you halt your life without them. And if you feel like splitting your time between being in love and doing your job is impossible, it’s only because you’re a novice at it. You lack practice. Everyone has to learn how to strike that balance; you don’t get a pass.” She jabbed a finger into his chest to emphasize her point.

“And lastly,” she said, making Richard mentally brace himself for another round. “You say it’s irresponsible for us to fall in love, but I say it’s irresponsible not to.”

Richard blinked hard at that, his brow furrowing together as his mind leapt ahead in the conversation, trying to deduce how she was going to justify that statement. But he was wrong.

“Every single day, we waste away. Not just you and me, but all of them. They’re growing tired, they’re growing hungry, their hope is dwindling away like their body weight. But they keep holding on, they keep fighting. And why? Because we told them to. We told them that there was hope. We told them there was something worth fighting for. And they believed it. But why hold out for happiness tomorrow when we’ve already given up on it today? _That_ is why we have to love, it’s the only thing that makes all of this struggle worth it in the end. Because if love is not worth fighting for, then neither is life…and we have been lying to them all along.”

For the first time since this whole conversation started, this battle of the ideals, they finally touched one another. Camille reached up and grabbed his face in both of her hands, with tears in her eyes. “I love you, Richard. I love you passionately. And that is what makes all of my tomorrows worth chasing.”

Richard wrapped his arms around her then, and he kissed her soundly, desperately, with every ounce of energy he had left in his body, because she had won him. With those words she had won, not only the debate, but everything else within him that mattered. He was lost and found in the same instant and there was nothing in life or in death that he wouldn’t do for her if she asked it of him.

And he was doomed, he knew. Because that image of Camille lying in Fidel’s place, that nightmarish image that had sent him into a tailspin, was still a very real possibility. And in the moment that he confessed his love for her, he would also be confessing his fear of that image, and acknowledging the power it possessed to utterly ruin him. But he couldn’t deny it any more. He was in love. And he would tell her so just as soon as the kiss ended. For now though, he held on, wrapped up in this moment as if it were his cocoon. Within that embrace, his transformation was unfolding. When he came out of that kiss, he knew he’d never be the same.

“I love you,” he said finally, tipping his forehead against hers because he barely had the energy to hold it upright after that kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I know, _Mon trésor._ _I know you do,” and she kissed him again._

_Richard parted their lips and slipped his tongue inside of her before dipping down slightly to interlock both arms around the backs of her thighs and hoist her up off of the ground. He needed to feel her connected to him by more than just their mouths, and when she wrapped both of her legs around his waist, he decided that felt better. He held her to himself and tried not to take account of how unhealthily light she was in his arms. She kissed him with all of the passion the French were known for, and Richard just held on and absorbed it all._

_When she eventually pulled away, she mimicked his earlier pose and just rested her head against his._

_“I’m sorry,” he told her._

_“Don’t be,” was her reply, scraping her fingers through his hair. “You were just afraid. I am too. There’s nothing wrong with that. But we can’t push each other away.”_

_“I know,” he answered, kissing her chin because it was right there. “I’m sorry.” Then, because he didn’t have the strength to hold her any longer, he slowly started to lower her back to the ground. It took several minutes, caught up in embracing each other with hugs and promises, but eventually, they started to pull out of their bubble and recall the outer world._

_Off in the near distance, they both became aware of the sound of a group of people moving through the jungle. A glimpse through some heavy foliage suggested to them that Lily Shaw was a part of this group. Looking back at each other, they silently agreed that their little love fest could come to a close and they were ready to rejoin society. They grabbed each other by the hand once more, and Richard lifted the back of her hand to his lips for one last kiss, and then they moved to catch up with the team._

_It was getting close to twilight, which was an odd time to see a team leaving camp. They had to hoof it a little bit, but they were eventually able to meet up with the team at a place where their two paths converged._

_“Richard, Camille, where’d you two come from?” Ronnie asked, coming to a halt along with the rest of his small team._

_Richard turned and pointed back down the hill. “Just down there,” he said. “We needed to have a private conversation. Bit late for a water run, isn’t it?” The path where they now stood was indeed the route they had all taken many times which led them up to the Beaumont’s plantation, but it would take them at least another hour to get all the way up there. “Where are you headed?”_

_“There was another helicopter,” Lily Shaw explained, breathless excitement in her voice. “Or the same one, we don’t know. But it flew up this way. We think it was heading to the X.”_

_Little more by way of explanation was required after that, and the group set off once again, with Richard and Camille now joining them. They made it to the X about twenty minutes later. They all slowed their punishing pace when they reached their destination, everyone spreading out slightly to search the scene._

_“What are we looking for, exactly?” a young man named Tyler asked, picking up a stick to hack through some of the larger bushes._

_“Don’t know,” responded Ronnie. “Anything that looks out of place. Like it might have been dropped from a helicopter.”_

_“You mean like that?” Lily asked in awe. Immediately, everyone followed the direction of her point and they saw, tangled high in the branches of a copperwood tree, a florescent blue parachute cradling a bright yellow, plastic cylinder at the end of its knotted string._

_“Oh my god,” Richard said, and Lily immediately approached the tree and started to climb._

_“It’s very high, Lily, be careful,” Camille said as she watched the other woman aptly scale the side of the tree. They all held their breath as she went higher and higher. It was several cautious minutes before she finally reached the height of her ability. She nestled herself in the crook between two hefty branches, holding onto one of them tightly while she leaned out with her other arm to reach for the cylinder. Try as she might, it was still about another arm’s length out of her reach._

_“Okay, don’t push it,” Richard called. Within his mind’s eye, he could see her reaching just a centimeter too far and slipping from her precarious position. “Please be careful.”_

_Lily looked around herself and then called down, “I need something to whack it with!”_

_She was too high to toss her anything, so Dwayne looked around for a long stick and then lowered it down the back of his shirt, like he was loading it into a backpack, then he slipped the end of the stick into the back pocket of his trousers. Once the stick was secured, Dwayne approached the tree and started climbing, following the route Lily had taken._

_The woman climbed down to meet him half way, then with her reaching down as far as she could, and Dwayne reaching up as far as he could, they eventually succeeded in handing off the required tool. Lily then had to climb back to her previous position, now holding a massive stick in one hand. Richard could barely stand to watch he was so nervous. “Do be careful!” he called again. “Go slow.”_

_She did go slow, and in time, she made it back to her previous position._ Apparently abandoning the idea of just “whacking” it, Lily carefully reached out and managed to hook the line with the end of the stick. Slowly, she pulled the string closer towards her, the canister along with it. When she finally got her hand around the canister, the group below her clapped in hearty encouragement.

“Heads up!” Lily called, and then let the stick drop to the ground, spearing itself into the dirt with a satisfying thud. Then she reached into her back pocket and produced a knife, which she then used to cut the canister free from its parachute. She folded the knife and put it back in her pocket as she said, “Okay, coming down!” The group clapped and cheered again as she tucked the canister under her arm like an American football and carefully started making her descent down the tree.

Richard watched with bated breath until Lily was about twenty feet off of the ground. “Heads up, Inspector,” Lily told him and then executed a very nice toss. Richard’s hands closed around the canister with all of the care as if he were catching a child. The group huddled around him to get a good look at it. It was bright and shiny and perfect, the cleanest thing any one of them had seen on the island in months. Richard’s fingernails looked especially dirty as he carefully moved to open it.

The latch in the front gave easily and the lid opened. Inside, there was a bulky, military grade, two-way radio with a detached antenna. Written on a piece of white tape across the front, it said “Channel 220.” Richard turned and looked at Camille, both of them sharing an unbelieving smile.

“Well go on then!” Tyler said, excitedly.

With shaking hands, Richard removed the radio from the canister and screwed the antenna into place. Twisting the volume knob, he felt a click and the radio powered to life, the small green display illuminating with a large “220.” A wave of unbelieving gasps and squeaks of excitement rippled across the group, and Richard looked up at them all, registering how Lily had made it safely to the ground and was now joining the packed huddle around him.

Richard brought the radio up to his mouth and pressed down on the speak button. “Hello?” he said hesitantly, and then clicked off. He waited a couple seconds for a response and then clicked back on, “Hello, can anybody hear me?” 

Again, there was silence. Richard looked up at the group and they all stared back at him in tense expectation. Clicked again “Hello, this is Detective Inspector Richard Poole of St. Marie. Does anybody read me?” He clicked off and waited again for a response.

The silence continued to stretch out, then, static came over the line.

Richard drew the radio closer to his mouth and clicked, “Yes, hello? This is the survivors on St. Marie! Can anybody read me?”

The static came in and out, like the waves on a shore. The group leaned towards the radio, crowding into Richard’s personal space. Everyone held their breath.

**_cckkk_ ** _\- “Affirmative. This is Lieutenant Anna Fulton aboard the USCGC Mohawk. Who am I speaking to?” - **cckkk** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! My favorite chapter for Camille. Richard is a brilliant and lovable idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. It was time someone ranted some sense into him and called out his misguided self-sabotage. I really hope you liked this chapter. I'm desperate to know all of your thoughts. What did you think of the confrontation? What did you think of the end? Tell me whatever you like. I'll be excited to hear your thoughts.


	19. Two Days

Chapter Nineteen: Two Days

**_cckkk_ ** _\- “Affirmative. This is Lieutenant Anna Fulton aboard the USCGC Mohawk. Who am I speaking to?” - **cckkk**_

The cry that erupted from the group when that message came in was almost deafening. Everyone was hugging each other and slapping each other on the back. Richard, grinning ear to ear, was jostled around by the rowdy outburst, and he hunched lower to try to shield himself from the noise, plugging one of his ears before clicking the radio back on. “Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the St. Marie Police Force. And I must say, Lieutenant, it is good to hear your voice.”

_“I could say the same of you, Detective,”_ Lt. Fulton replied with a chuckle, obviously having heard the background celebration. Her next message was drowned out by the noise around him.

“Alright, alright, calm down, everyone. I can barely hear her,” Richard said, succeeding in quieting the group. He clicked the radio again, “Can you repeat?”

_“I said good thinking on making that big X. Made you folks really easy to find,”_ came Lt. Fulton’s voice, in her very American accent.

“Oh thank you. It wasn’t my idea,” Richard said, casting Ronnie a smile. Several others clapped Ronnie on the back and the big man just beamed. Tears were streaking down his cheeks.

_“How many of you are there?”_

“There’s a total of sixty-four of us,” Richard replied. He felt a tug at his shoulder and made eye contact with Camille.

“Sixty-four?” she mouthed.

“The Beaumonts,” he explained, and everyone nodded in understanding.

_“Can you repeat? Did you say sixty-four?”_

“Affirmative. Sixty-four. Six. Four.”

_“Received…Stand by.”_

The group exchanged hesitant looks. There was an obvious level of surprise in the Lieutenant’s voice when she heard their size. The longer the silence played out, the more nervous they became, although they couldn’t explain why.

_“Is all of your group somewhere safe now, Detective?”_

“Affirmative. We have found shelter in a cave where the creatures don’t go.” Again, there was a tug at his sleeve and Camille whispered “Fidel,” to him.

“OH! And we have a member of our party who is badly injured. He needs immediate medical attention.”

_“Acknowledged. Is this person with you?”_

“Negative. He is back at camp.”

_“Received. What I need you to do is activate the homing beacon on the capsule we dropped and take it with you back to your camp. Do you still have the container you found this radio in?”_

Camille bent down and retrieved it from where Richard had dropped it a while ago. She handed it to Richard and he answered, “Yes, I have it right here.”

_“On the back of the capsule, there should be a little light bulb next to a red plastic tab.”_

As the instructions came over the radio, Richard turned the container over in his hands. He grasped the tab, “Right, I’ve got it.”

_“Pull that tab firmly and the light should start blinking.”_

“Okay…it’s blinking.”

_“Great, we’re reading your signal. Take that capsule back to your camp and we’ll be able to find you. With your new location, we should be able to airlift your friend out of there and get him the medical attention he needs.”_

A sigh of relief spread through the group, but Richard’s brow furrowed. “Actually Lieutenant, I don’t think that will work. The area of our camp is very heavily obstructed by trees. You’d have a hard time extracting anything from there, I’d think.”

_“Received. Can you move him to the area with the X?”_

Richard looked up at Ronnie, who nodded. “Yes. We can.”

_“Received. Night is falling soon. Can you get him there before sundown?”_

Richard looked around the group and everyone had the same look of skepticism on their faces. “I’m not confident in that,” he finally answered. “But his condition has been stabilized by our camp doctor. He should last the night okay.”

_“Understood. Can we plan on first thing tomorrow morning? O-seven-hundred hours?”_

“Yes. But we don’t have a reliable method of telling time down here.”

_“You do now, Detective. That radio has an atomic clock on it.”_

Richard looked down at the radio in his hands. Sure enough, there was a small digital clock in the corner of the screen, right above the “220.” It read 18:29. There was something jarring about seeing the time reflected back at him like that, as if worlds were colliding and his personal, Caribbean fever dream was being ripped back to reality, where time had a number and people weren’t eaten by monsters. Feeling that synchronicity link him back to the real world so violently made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.

“Oh, Right-o. Good,” he said, a little wistfully. Then, once he had gotten over his surprise, he confirmed, “So we’ll have him back at the X by seven o’clock tomorrow morning, ready for extraction. What about the rest of us?” He knew this is what everyone else was wondering. Hell, he was wondering it himself. So far, the Lieutenant hadn’t said anything about airlifting the rest of them out of there, and it was a bit hard to miss a detail like that.

_“I’ll be honest with you, Detective, we’ve been on this search and rescue mission for weeks now, and we’ve never come across a group of your size. We don’t have the capacity to take you onboard.”_

Richard’s heart fell along with the rest of the group at hearing that. They all looked at each other with the same question on their faces: What do we do now?

But the Lieutenant wasn’t done yet. _“We have made contact with the USNS Comfort; she’s a hospital ship with more than enough space for all of you. She’s altered course after our message and is making her way to us immediately, but she’s still about two days out from these waters. Is it possible for you and your people to hold on until then?”_

Richard could barely believe his ears. “Two days? Yes. We can make it two days.” His head was spinning at the mere thought of being rescued in only a short 48 hours.

Lieutenant Fulton made a few more parting remarks: take the beacon and the radio back to camp, keep them both close by, do not turn off the radio, and await further instructions. When she officially signed off and Richard made a corresponding salutation, the radio frequency eventually grew silent, and Richard slowly lowered it away from his mouth. He turned and looked at his team once again. They all stood slack jawed, like they had all awoken from the same idyllic dream. What finally broke the spell was Dwayne hooking an arm around Lily’s neck in the same instant that he reached out and forcefully grabbed a fistful of Ronnie’s shirt. He shook them both with crazy excitement as he shouted “WE DID IT!” into the sky.

Everyone burst into celebration again, hugging and congratulating each other and shedding more than a few tears. Richard barely had any reaction at all, except that he felt stunned, like he had to convince himself that this was still what reality felt like. He turned to Camille in disbelief and was enraptured by the radiant smile she bore. She clasped two hands over his cheeks and stepped into a kiss, which he returned earnestly. It was the first time they had ever kissed in front of anyone else, but for once, Richard couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Oh man, Fidel is going to be sorry he missed that,” Dwayne said when the two eventually pulled apart, causing several others in the group to laugh.

“Right, well…” Richard said, Camille still hanging onto him while his own arm found it impossible to release her waist. “You heard the lady, we are to return to camp and await further instructions. And I think there are one or two news items that the rest of the camp will be interested in hearing before they tuck in for the night.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Ronnie joked, even as he turned and started heading back down the path to the camp. Everyone followed his lead.

* * *

When they got back to camp, the first thing Richard wanted to do was check on Fidel. He had told Lt. Fulton that their injured member would be fine to wait out the night, but if Dr. Holden had a different opinion, then Richard wanted to make contact with the USCGC Mohawk again posthaste to order an emergency extraction. The camp was immediately abuzz as soon as Richard’s party returned. It was no secret that they had gone to check on where the helicopter had been, and the really keen observers were quick to spot the radio clipped on Richard’s waistband. As he marched past, the murmuring built all around him.

When he reached the Best’s mat, he found Juliette and Fidel connected to each other by a rubber tube, colored a deep maroon, connected at the arms of husband and wife, with the ends obscured by tape. Thank goodness, Richard really didn’t like needles.

Very close by, Holden kept an eye on both of them, and was telling Juliette to have another drink of water.

“How are we looking, Doctor?” Richard asked.

“Stable. They both are.” Holden looked up and instantly noticed the radio on Richard’s waist. “Is there anything you wanted to share, Inspector?

Richard crouched and sent a careful glance over his shoulder. He would update the rest of the group soon enough, but he didn’t want to make it public knowledge that Fidel was getting evacuated early. Most of the people in the camp were perfectly lovely people, and Richard hard no worries about any of them throwing a fit about impartiality and trying to claw their ways to the front of the line. But there were a decent number of newcomers who he didn’t know very well. It was better to be safe than sorry.

He lowered his voice and said, “Rescue is imminent.” That caused both Holden and Juliette to inch closer to him with astounded expressions. “Two days away.”

“Two _days_?” Holden repeated, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

Richard nodded, making a gesture with his hand that told them to quiet down. “I spoke with the US Coast Guard and told them about Fidel. They are going to extract him tomorrow morning ahead of the rest of us so he can get immediate medical care, unless you tell me right now that he won’t make it through the night and needs the attention sooner.”

Holden looked at his patient thoughtfully. He reached out and felt Fidel’s pulse again. “They’re worried about a nighttime landing?” he asked.

Richard nodded. “They can’t extract him from here because of the tree cover. We would have to transport him up to the X and then they’d airlift him out from there. Ronnie and Dwayne are working on crafting a stretcher for him now. As soon as that’s done, we can take him if we need to. But if he’s stable enough to get through the night, we will take him in the morning. It really comes down to whatever you think is best.”

Holden considered the options carefully, turning to look over at Fidel, and then up at Juliette. The woman watched him steadily, anxious to hear his verdict, not really knowing which she preferred to hear. To hear that he needed to be taken tonight would be good news because it meant that he’d be rescued sooner and would have proper medical resources devoted to him, but it would also indicate that he was in bad shape and not expected to last the night.

“He’s stable now,” Holden said, “and the transfusion is helping. I worry about bumping him around too much trying to fumble him up the mountain in the dark. The best course of action is probably to wait until morning.”

“You’re sure?” Richard asked, just to clarify.

The doctor nodded resolutely, aware that Juliette was watching him like a hawk. “Yes, I have no reason to believe that we’re in danger of losing him tonight. He will be fine to wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Richard said, and then stood from where he had crouched.

Turning back to the crowd, their excitement was blatant now. Though he had gone straight to check on Fidel, the other members of the team returning from the X were stopped and questioned immediately upon their arrival, which got the rumor mill churning at record speed.

As he approached Camille, the woman’s mother beat him to her. Catherine grasped her daughter’s hands in both of her own and said, “Is it true, darling?”

Camille nodded at her mother happily. “It’s true, _maman_. It’s really happening.” The women embraced, with tears in their eyes, and Richard couldn’t help but smile minutely at the image.

He turned back to look at the camp, many of whom were eyeing him expectantly. He looked down at the cave floor to find his usual spot and then backed into it. He cleared his throat, and several people stopped what they were doing and gave him their immediate attention. “Yes, alright, I suppose it’s time to talk about this. Would you all please settle down.”

After a few seconds, everyone had halted their conversations and were beginning to take a seat on the cave floor. Soon, Richard held the rapt attention of the whole group. “An hour ago, our group went up the mountain to investigate the helicopter we heard fly over. Lily Shaw discovered, tangled in a tree, this canister,” he pointed over at Lily in that moment and she held up the canister, the beacon still blinking. “Inside, we found this.” He unclipped the radio from his waist and held it into view.

“We used it to make contact with a boat just off shore. A United States Coast Guard vessel.” At this revelation, the murmuring swelled again and the excited energy of everyone became very palpable. Their volume began to rise as people discussed the implications of this news. “We’re not there yet!” Richard boomed, just to quiet the group down again. It worked, and his expression softened, his lips smirking slightly. “But we’re close. We’re very close.”

“Sir?” Edward Fry asked, his hand in the air like a school boy. Richard nodded at him in permission and then he stated. “I heard two days.”

Richard gave a single nod. “You heard right.” And the group burst with activity again.

Richard raised his voice over all of theirs and explained. “There is a hospital ship currently on her way here and that’s where we’ll go once she’s arrived. We have to wait two days for her to get here, though. In the meantime, there are a few matters that need to be sorted. We still don’t know how many survivors there are elsewhere on the island. But we know that the X is visible by a great distance and that many have followed it to safety. Some may even be on their way here now. In the next two days, I would like to move whatever we can to the X, because that is where these people are likely headed. Our food, our medicine, our blankets, our weapons. Everything that can be picked up and carried I want to be left at the X. We won’t need those things where we’re going, and they might do a lot of good here in our absence. We will also leave the radio and a message to anyone who comes to the X after we’ve gone, with instructions on how to call for rescue.”

Everyone nodded at this, looking around at their meager possessions and realizing that they’d soon be parted from them. He could tell what they were thinking. “When you prepare yourselves for rescue, don’t bring along anything that you can’t carry on your person. Leave it all behind. This is a rescue mission for you and your loved ones. That’s what’s most important. Finally, I’d like a team of volunteers to go up to the plantation tomorrow and inform the Beaumonts of our impending rescue. Do not come back down that mountain until all three of them are in tow. They’ve been hesitant to leave their family’s land and join our little band of hooligans.”

Everyone kind of chuckled at this, and Richard even smiled. “But for heaven’s sake, this had better be enough to convince them to come down.” They laughed again. “If you’d like to volunteer for this final plantation team, talk to Camille,” he said, garnering a nod from her. “She’ll get you sorted. Everyone else, you can consider your other work crews effectively canceled. Never mind about the barricade anymore. Never mind about the garden. Never mind about the new traps. From now on, I want us all focused on moving this operation up the mountain to the X. We’re close, people. I promise each and every one of you is going to make it onto that boat and to safety. Rescue is right around the corner. You all made it, and for that, I can only offer you my very ecstatic, and very heartfelt congratulations.” Then Richard began to clap loudly, and was soon joined by the boisterous cheering and celebration of the whole crowd. People laughed and cried and embraced. Children were tossed into the air, releasing shrieks of laughter. Couples Richard hadn’t even realized were couples, descended upon each other in delirious kisses. He continued to clap for them and just grinned, watching their happy celebration like a proud parent.

Camille approached him with a smile on her face, and his heart swelled with every step she took. His hands went to her hips as her arms looped around his neck. And as he kissed her, no one even noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, both the USCGC Mohawk and the USNS Comfort are real vessels that are stationed along the Atlantic and Caribbean coasts of the US, and they have frequently been used for rescue and humanitarian efforts just like this. In real life, the Mohawk has a larger capacity than what I suggest here, but I just like to imagine that they were already close to capacity from their crew and other rescue missions. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts!


	20. A moment of happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize once again for the delay in getting this chapter posted. This is a season of time where mine and my beta's lives are getting rather busy. It's difficult for her to find times to edit the chapters and it's difficult for me to find times to post them. This isn't an effort to excuse the delays, only to explain them. I will try not to let too much time pass between this chapter and the next.
> 
> And for those of you still faithfully reading and commenting: thank you so much!

Chapter Twenty: A moment of happiness

It was a surreal experience, to be sure. Richard squinted up at the morning sky, watching as the impressive blades of the bright orange helicopter sent wave after wave of assaulting gusts of wind down onto the island below, the tree tops quivering in inferiority.

A large crate was gently lowered down first, followed by a man. Richard reached out and shook the man’s hand after he detached from the line, and the Inspector marveled at how strange the gloved hand felt in his own.

Strangely enough, this moment felt more akin to an alien invasion than what the cryptos had done. A bizarre, foreign individual dropping down from the sky, bringing with it sights, sounds, and textures different from what had been customary for so long. Never in his life had Richard felt as primitive as he did in that moment. He ruefully noted that all of those news reporters who had spoken of “extraterrestrials” at the start of the crypto outbreak would be validated to know they sort of got the story right, just reported it months too early.

“Welcome to St. Marie!” the Inspector called over the roar of the machine above them, shaking the man’s hand firmly.

“Thanks for having me!” was the American’s reply. He introduced himself as Michael and said he was a doctor. Richard introduced him to Holden and the two immediately turned to Fidel and started assessing his condition.

After several minutes of this, Richard’s injured police sergeant was loaded onto a bright orange stretcher and strapped firmly into place. Richard was actually caught off guard by how emotional of an experience it was, seeing his friend loaded up and then lifted away like that, entrusted to a man he had just met only minutes ago. He missed him immediately, prayed that he would be safe, and also envied him for finally being off of this beast-infested island.

Juliette and little Rosie watched as Fidel was winched higher and higher into the sky, Michael dangling from his harness beside the stretcher, eventually reaching the helicopter and being loaded inside the giant, orange bird. Fidel’s little daughter waved goodbye and the helicopter soared away, eventually dipping out of sight.

Once the Fidel situation was handled, Richard turned his attention to the large crate the US Coast Guard had left behind. He and Holden opened it to find a treasure trove of supplies inside. Blankets, socks, medicine, feminine products, diapers, soap, bottles of water, ice chests full of ready-to-eat meals stacked with protein and valuable carbohydrates, as well as several dry food options. It was challenging, at first, to identify all of these items, because they were packed so tightly and often contained in small, vacuum-sealed pouches, but once they discovered how to open these packages, their astonishment grew and grew as each thing was revealed.

Other members of the camp arrived and as they did, Richard began delegating tasks. He set one group in charge of creating a temporary campsite at the X location. It didn’t need to be fancy, just enough to meet their basic needs for two days. He set another group in charge of sorting all of their supplies, as well as finishing unloading the crate, distributing what was needed for the next few days and then finding a means of storing the excess for the next group of survivors to discover when they reached the X. Finally, the rest of the group was instructed to make the repeated trips to and from the cave to transport all of the camp’s belongings to this new site. Of course, once the elderly, the children, and the sick or injured among them made it to the new X camp, they were not expected to go out again, and Richard preferred it this way. But the young, able-bodied members of the group had to be relied upon to see the rest of the camp moved.

Richard had assumed that he would belong to this final category and would help with transporting the camp up the mountain, but Holden had squashed those dreams. The truth was, it had been many weeks since Richard had broken his foot, and most of the pain had gone. He had even gone back to wearing his normal shoes. In fact, Richard hardly remembered his injury most days, but the doctor still identified him as officially belonging to the “sick or injured” list, and didn’t want him putting any undue strain on his foot. Personally, Richard thought this was bollocks and that the doctor was just trying to keep him from working too hard.

“There are plenty of younger people perfectly willing to do it,” Holden had said, and Richard hadn’t quite liked the way he had said “younger,” but fighting the point was evidently useless because on matters of health, Holden had the ultimate word.

Instead, Richard stayed and helped the team build a series of rudimentary structures that should be able to serve as sleeping quarters for a night or two. They also pulled up a lot of plants from the soil and cleared many stones to make the ground clear and flat so that others could sleep beneath the stars. Next they established two areas that would be good for fires and began to prepare the kindling and fuel for those fires to be struck later that evening. Bit by bit, the area was transforming into a proper campsite.

Richard looked up into the sky again, off towards where the helicopter had disappeared behind the tree line. He tried to imagine what it would feel like, finally being lifted off of this island, carried to safety. But he couldn’t picture it.

* * *

When Richard went away to University, his mother had given him a ring. It was the same ring with which his father had proposed to her, and his father before him. It was an old ring, and worth a pretty penny these days. Jewelry today just wasn’t made the same as it was a hundred years ago. Richard had been embarrassed slightly by the gesture, but he was bright-eyed and optimistic heading into University and so he held out hope that he might find a nice girl to whom he could one day give this ring. And there _had_ been a girl, someone he would have asked, if he thought there was a chance she might accept. But she never saw him that way, he knew, and so the ring stayed in its box, in his student flat, for all of his reading. Then as he trained to enter law enforcement, it stayed in a drawer on his bedside. Then after his training, when he was fully established in his career and could finally afford his own little flat in Croydon, he bought a small safe which he kept in his closet, and that safe had become the ring’s new home.

When Richard had come to St. Marie on “temporary” assignment, he had only packed a small bag, nothing elaborate, but suitable for a few days, maybe a few weeks if he could find somewhere to launder his clothes. When it became clear that the word “temporary” was a little misleading, he had phoned home and requested that several more of his personal items be boxed up and shipped to him in the Caribbean. That had proved to be very expensive and so he hadn’t done it again. Instead, he made a rare request of his parents and asked that they go and pack up the remainder of his possessions. The safe and the ring had been among these possessions, and Richard had secured space in a climate-controlled storage facility to house them, along with the rest of his belongings. The quarterly rent associated with this storage unit was considerably cheaper than the monthly rent it would have cost to keep his flat, and Richard paid this due regularly, just like clockwork.

Or he did, right up until several months ago, when monsters emerged from the ground and turned his life upside down. By now, Richard was almost certain that his storage unit would have been repossessed by the facility, as per the contract he had signed, and all of its contents would have most probably been auctioned off. This meant that the ring was probably long gone by now, along with the rest of his worldly possessions.

But he honestly didn’t care about the rest of them. He couldn’t even call to mind what any of them were. Except the ring. He thought about it now, for the first time in probably over a decade. He hadn’t expected, moving to St. Marie those few years ago, that an engagement ring would come in handy here. That thought couldn’t have been further from his mind at the time. And yet, he had met this amazing woman, and she had managed to turn his whole life upside down again, but in a different way and in a different direction. And now, he had become the sort of chap who spent time thinking about rings.

“Richard?”

Richard burst out of his reverie when he heard his name. He looked over at Camille in answer.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, then looked pointedly down at his hands. “I think it’s open,” she said.

Richard too looked down and noticed that he had been absent-mindedly twisting the open cap on one of the supplies from the crate. Sure enough, it was open and he had just kept twisting, coiling the tab into a tight corkscrew. “Oh, quite right,” he said, putting down the package and picking up another.

Camille narrowed her eyes at him curiously. “What were you thinking about?”

“I wasn’t,” he answered abruptly.

“You weren’t thinking,” she repeated skeptically.

“Well I mean, I wasn’t thinking— whatever it is you- that is to say, I wasn’t thinking anything in particular, just…thinking.”

She nodded at him slowly, indicating that whatever it was he was trying to hide, that wasn’t exactly the smoothest way of getting away with it. “Right,” she said, drawing the word out.

“It isn’t important,” he dismissed, looking down at his hands again as he pulled open the next tab, feeling terribly flustered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Camille asked after a moment.

Richard quickly shook his head, “No. Thank you.” And after a moment more of hesitation, she eventually backed down, returning to her own business and unfolding the foil blankets from the pouch. A moderately long silence played out between them before Richard said, “Eventually.”

Camille looked up at him, almost having forgotten their conversation.

“I eventually want to talk about it with you.”

Her eyes narrowed again, but she smiled at him too. “Okay,” she said, “we will.”

* * *

That night, Richard experienced what he would later regard as one of his happiest memories. There wasn’t even anything particularly exciting that happened that night, but something about the overall atmosphere of it filled Richard with a wonderful sense of satisfaction.

The group had finally all come together, including the Beaumonts from up the mountain. They were a full sixty-four, minus one (as Fidel had already gone ahead), and they built up two robust fires around which they all gathered together. Instead of splitting into two groups, one around each fire, they all decided without discussion, to just form one big oval that encircled both fires. It was a small act of solidarity, but it exemplified the group’s attitude about what they had achieved. They also showed no restraint in how much fuel they were willing to spend on keeping the fires going, so everyone indulged in the rejuvenating warmth as the coolness of the night set in.

Another thing that made the night noteworthy is that, armed with information gathered from Richard’s special radio, they discovered that it was now mid August, meaning that the cryptos had surfaced a full six months ago. This was shocking to hear because most everyone had agreed, up until the moment they were corrected, that only about four months had passed. It was an uncanny feeling to realize that two months of your life had disappeared without you any the wiser, and this bizarre notion culminated when Dwayne announced, “That means I’m forty-nine.”

Everyone turned and watched as the police officer let this realization sink in with a sobering nod. He looked across the crowd and said, “I had a birthday last month.”

“Bloody hell, so did I,” Holden said next. 

When they totaled it up, they discovered that there were sixteen among them who had all experienced birthdays since the cryptos had surfaced. And not letting those sixteen members be robbed of even one more second of the celebration they were due, the group took it upon themselves to sing a hearty rendition of “Happy Birthday”…sixteen times, with each iteration getting more and more out of hand. By the end of all sixteen special iterations of the song, several members of the group were up on their feet, whooping and hollering and prancing about, as if making a mockery of the stupid beasts that had tried to steal their special days.

Richard did not dance, though he laughed mightily at those who did. Instead, he remained reclined in the spot next to Camille, his legs angled out towards the nearest fire and propping himself up on one elbow, hands comfortably clasped in front of his chest. Camille sat very close to him, with her legs crisscrossed, and Richard was tempted, on more than one occasion to just inch a little ways closer and rest his head in her lap, but something kept him from doing this, perhaps it was simply how entertaining he was finding the rest of the group. He did, however, make two sneaky attempts at touching her legs while they were so within reach. Both times, his hand was instantly swatted away and he received a stony glare.

With bellies full from their nutritious meals, and with plenty of purified water to go around, the group eventually settled back and indulged in a few fantasies about the future.

“First thing I want to do,” Owen announced, a boyish grin creeping onto his face, “is get my hands on a guitar. Once my arm heals up, of course.”

Everyone nodded at this, each thinking of their own “first thing I’ll do” wishes.

“I want to go to the cinema. Sink into those big, comfy seats, eat loads of popcorn,” one woman said.

“What would you watch?” someone asked.

She thought about it a moment and then said, “I don’t know…something animated and lighthearted. Nothing gory.”

Everyone groaned in eager agreement with that last sentiment.

“I’ve just had it with being outside, if I’m honest,” a man said. “I think I’ll just find some place with air conditioning and never leave.”

People laughed at that thought, but couldn’t find the fault in it.

“First thing I’m going to do, is get the ingredients for my famous blueberry scones,” Mrs. Beecher said, making the group’s mouths water just thinking about it.

“You’ll have to make enough for all of us,” someone joked, and everyone laughed again, almost drowning out Mrs. Beecher’s reply that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I can’t wait for that first shower,” someone stated after the conversation lulled again.

The whole group erupted with almost obscene moans at that thought, everyone mutually agreeing that that was the best one so far. That didn’t stop them from trying to top it though. They all talked about their wildest, and yet also mundane fantasies, everything from painting their toenails to watching their kids just get to be kids again. Eventually, almost everyone had gotten to say at least one thing they were looking forward to. Even the quietest members among them, people Richard had scarcely heard utter a single word the whole six months they had been together, joined in on the game.

“What about you, Inspector?” Lily asked.

Before Richard could reply, Camille did for him. “I can’t wait to wear a tie again,” she said, distorting her voice in imitation, causing everyone to crack up laughing.

Richard looked up at her with a dropped jaw. “I’m sorry, was that supposed to be my accent?” he criticized, holding back a laugh, but pleased when his teasing resulted in Camille giggling at herself, grabbing him by the shoulder and rocking away from him.

It was enough to start a trend though and several more joined in on the joke, all in rather appalling English accents.

“A good book would be nice.”

“How about a murder?”

“And a proper cup of tea!”

There were several other little jabs that Richard lost track of because too many people were trying to be funny all at once. But he laughed good-naturedly, and when they had all had their fun, he simply admitted, “All of those do sound nice,” then amending, “Apart from the murders. Quite happy without those, thank you.”

The conversation/celebration lasted long into the night, and eventually the fires began to tire, giving them all a not-so-subtle hint. Begrudgingly, they all went about the business of settling in for the night, conscious of the fact that there was still work to be done tomorrow as they had not succeeded in relocating the whole camp yet. The elderly and the families with small children were given priority in claiming the shelters. A few volunteers were established for lookout duty to cover the hours of the night. The rest of the group, including Richard and Camille settled themselves onto the open platforms, elevated just a few inches off of the cold ground. Specifically, the platform Richard and Camille used was one he had made himself, splitting long pieces of bamboo down their centers, and then hammering them flat to make floor boards. From there, he simply had to secure them to long, intact bamboo poles, and he had a fairly rudimentary, but perfectly adequate deck. This one was big enough for about eight people to share, if they didn’t mind being close. Richard, Camille, Catherine, Dwayne, Holden, Juliette, and Rosie all agreed to share this platform together. Ronnie would have been welcome, of course, except that he and his family were already settled into one of the covered shelters.

Being well-stocked on blankets, nobody struggled to stay warm. Pillows were another issue, however. Some people had managed to bring up what had served as their pillows from the other camp, but having been forbidden by a certain doctor from going on those trips, Richard was not among these lucky few. Instead, he snuck away to the crate for a moment and came back with a package of diapers. He positioned this easily under his head and it got the job done. Camille didn’t need a pillow, as Richard’s chest worked nicely.

It took a while for everyone to settle down, but eventually, the cacophony of the island night overtook all other sounds, and the people slept, many of them dreaming their first pleasant dreams in six months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for reading! If you feel so inclined, please leave a comment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. I really love hearing from all of you.


	21. Finding Comfort

Chapter Twenty-One: Finding Comfort

The second day went by without incident. The teams made easy work of transporting the last of their gear up to the X location, and they arranged their current camp site in such a way as to be of the most use to any additional survivors that might discover it later. Everyone seemed in something of a daze as they went about these preparations though, and Richard rather felt as though he was setting out the mince pies and brandy for Father Christmas. The day seemed to draw out especially long, and about halfway through, they had run out of things to do, which just made it feel longer.

Richard occupied a lot of his time that day by coordinating with Lieutenant Fulton over the radio and establishing the plan for tomorrow’s extraction. The USNS Comfort was right on schedule to arrive during the night, and Fulton expected to be able to start the extraction first thing in the morning. It was decided that the children would be airlifted out first, followed by the sick and wounded, then the elderly, then the women, then the men, and last of all, Holden, Ronnie, Richard, and Camille. Fulton and Richard also worked out what the protocol should be for any additional survivors who might find the X after the sixty-four had already been rescued. Richard carefully carved these instructions into the plastic of the supply crate, not wanting to entrust such precious words to something as soluble as paper. If anyone were to find this campsite, they would also find these clear instructions and the resources necessary for requesting their own rescue. When Richard was finished, his hand cramped painfully, but the carved words were deep and clear. That would have to do.

That night, Richard did not sleep peacefully. While Camille snored softly on his shoulder, Richard kept running through the plan in his mind, over and over again, imagining every way in which it could go wrong. Once again, he felt that familiar anxiety building in his chest. Whoever was in control of the universe had certainly had a good laugh with tempting Richard in the past with the promise of something wonderful, only to pull the rug out from under him at the last minute. If something like that were to happen now, he wasn’t sure he could bear it. And so he let every horrible version of tomorrow play out in his head, trying to think of solutions to each problem, a desperate mental game of chess against himself that stole the hours of sleep from him almost up until dawn peeked over the horizon.

The next morning, just two or three hours after Richard had finally let his lids fall, Fulton’s voice came over the radio, calling his name. Richard was awake in an instant. It was time to do this.

He set four men as armed lookouts at all four corners of the camp with express instructions not to watch the extractions but to keep a keen eye out for cryptos or other survivors. Then, he instructed Camille and Ronnie to start dividing the people up into groups. He knew, from his conversations with Lt. Fulton the day before, that they could expect two helicopters to carry out the extractions, one from Lt. Fulton’s vessel the Mohawk, and another from the USNS Comfort. The helicopter from the Mohawk could only transport 3 survivors at a time, but the aircraft coming from the USNS Comfort could hold twice that number. Due to the slope of the terrain, neither of the helicopters would be landing on the island at all. This meant that all of the extractions would have to be carried out in a manner not dissimilar to how Fidel was airlifted out. A member of the rescue team would be slowly lowered down to the island, a survivor would be secured to the rescuer’s harness, and then both would be winched back up to the helicopter.

It would be a fairly slow process already, and because Richard didn’t want to do anything that would cause any more delays, he told Camille and Ronnie that the whole group had to be split up into groups of three, and then those groups were to be given a specific order for their departure. He didn’t want any confusion or disagreements about who was going next. He also didn’t want the rescuers to have to detach from their rigs in order to oversee coordination on the ground. Richard wanted things to move like clockwork; as soon as a line was dropped, he wanted the next survivor already present and ready for extraction.

He also had Holden lead a team responsible for securing the loose items of the campsite so that nothing went flying when the helicopters brought their downdrafts against the terrain. With that done, it was just a matter of waiting. 

It took a while for official word to come over the radio, but after Lt. Fulton informed Richard that the helicopters were officially underway, it only took about seven minutes for them to appear over the tree line. Richard took the first child into his arms, a little boy named Timon, and carried him out to the drop point. He held the boy’s head against his shoulder with a protective hand, trying to shield him from the harsh winds of the helicopter blades.

A man was lowered from the sky and touched down just as Richard approached with Timon. He handed the child over and helped to hold him in place while he was strapped against the man’s chest. After a few minutes of this, Richard was told to go back up the incline to where the others were waiting. He did this, and turned in time to see the rescuer give a thumbs up to the team remaining in the helicopter, and he and Timon were steadily lifted from the ground.

Just like that, the rescue was officially underway.

It took about ten minutes per person to load up each helicopter, so while it took the USNS Comfort’s helicopter an hour to collect a full load, it took the Mohawk’s aircraft half that time. Richard and Ronnie took turns meeting the rescuers at the drop point with the next person ready for extraction. While they did this, Holden and Camille stayed with the rest of the group at the top of the slope and kept them prepared and organized. There were a total of sixteen children in their group, and extracting them was the first priority. When both helicopters were loaded up and left with the first nine kids, the survivors had about twenty minutes of respite before the helicopters returned for the next load.

And on and on it went, loading for an hour and a half, resting for twenty minutes, loading for an hour and a half, resting for twenty minutes. The kids were all rescued, then the sick and injured, then the elderly. Each time Richard climbed back up the slope and turned to watch yet another friend be lifted to safety, a modicum of pressure released from his chest. He wouldn’t totally relax until each and every one of them was safe. In his breaks between rounds, he would check on the lookouts and make sure that they hadn’t seen anything disturbing. Sometimes, he would manage to drink a little water. About seven hours into the rescue Richard received word via radio that the aircrafts were having to stop down to refuel. He used this as an excuse to let his team stop down for an official meal. They still had enough meals left from the supply crate, so they were able to finish those off.

Compared to their experience two nights ago, this group meal was less jovial and much more pensive. It was like the whole group was feeling a certain separation anxiety, now having close to half their population removed from the island. Conversations were quiet and sparse, the occasional laugh feeling awkward and very out of place. Richard didn’t do much talking either, eating his meal with his head down, trying to calculate the progress they had made so far and estimate how much longer it would be before they were all safe. He was startled when he felt gentle nails scratching the back of his neck.

“You okay?” Camille asked, tickling his neck and up the back of his scalp.

Richard churned the question over in his mind a few times before settling on, “Ask me that in another seven hours.”

His estimation proved not far off. After the helicopters returned and the extraction resumed, the women were lifted to safety, all except for Camille who stayed behind with the other leaders. But she did share a tearful farewell with her mother as Catherine was escorted down for her extraction. Richard breathed a small sigh of relief when the she disappeared out of site and into the belly of the hovering aircraft. Just the men left. They were getting closer.

The hours continued and the sun slipped further along its descent. The group’s male population began to dwindle in size. First by three, then by six. Then by three again, then another six. Eventually, Richard had to dismiss the lookouts from their post; it was their turn. Richard helped secure the straps on Dwayne himself, then shook the police officer’s hand. “Be safe, my friend.”

“You too, Chief,” Dwayne replied. “See you there.”

Richard pinched his lips together in a taut line as he climbed back up the slope again. As he watched Dwayne be lifted to safety, he felt the first signs of tears start to well up behind his eyes. But he wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t let himself. When he reached the rest of the “camp” it was just him, Ronnie, Holden, and Camille left, and there was still one seat left on the aircraft above them.

“Come on,” Ronnie said to Holden, holding out a fist towards the other man. He nodded towards the detectives, “We know these two aren’t going to split up. So it’s got to be either you or me.”

Holden nodded and held his fist beside Ronnie’s. “Rock, paper, scissors,” the men said in unison. Ronnie won. Paper beats rock. So Holden had to be the next to leave.

Booker Holden hugged each of them earnestly. “I don’t know what to say,” he told them. “It seems so…wrong, leaving you three.”

“We’ll be right behind you, Doctor,” Richard said, hugging the other man tightly, and slapping his back a few times.

After just a few more minutes, the winch was on its way back down, signaling it was time for Holden to make his descent. As he walked down the slope, Ronnie called out, “Don’t have too much fun without us!”

And Holden fired back over his shoulder, “No promises!”

When the Comfort’s helicopter was fully loaded with all six members, it began its flight out beyond the tree line and eventually fell from view. Ronnie, Richard, and Camille all looked around the site again, just to confirm that everything was as it should be. All of the supplies were neatly stacked and put away. There was still a healthy portion of the original supply crate that they were leaving behind. Richard unhooked the radio from his belt, told Lt. Fulton he was signing off, and then unscrewed the antenna from its top and packed it back into the canister. He lowered the canister into the crate, right where the instructions said it would be.

When he turned around, Camille was right there, ready to take his hand. They walked back to the edge of the camp and took a seat, watching Ronnie head down the slope to meet the rescuer who was currently being winched down to the pickup area. Richard noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to see Camille brushing some tears from her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, having to shout over the sound of the helicopter.

She nodded and searched for the right words, the most succinct way of summing up her emotions. “I’m leaving home!” she answered with a shrug as another tear darted from her eye. 

And Richard realized she didn’t mean the camp. She meant St. Marie. He turned and looked out over the island again, this time, not seeing the rescue that was taking place in front of him. His eyes stretched beyond that, and where his vision finally failed, his mind’s eye took over. He recalled his little beach shack, his porch, his chair. He thought of his little boat, and his lizard. Then he thought of his office, his desk, his whiteboard, his fan. It had been so long since he had laid eyes on any of those things, he had almost forgotten he missed them. For the past six months, all he could think about was how to survive long enough to get off of this island, how to get all of those people to safety. He didn’t take into account that leaving the nightmare of St. Marie after the surfacing also meant leaving his home for the past four years. He wondered if it was even possible that they could come back some day. If it was possible to rebuild after the cryptos could be dealt with. Or would the centuries of human habitation of this island come to a close after the last of the survivors were either killed or rescued? He hoped that wasn’t the case. He hoped to see civilization come back to St. Marie, eventually. Maybe he would even be on the first boat back. Maybe. If it’s what Camille wanted.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tipped her into his side. He kissed her forehead, and let her keep crying. “Don’t worry,” he told her, watching as Ronnie finally made it up to the helicopter and was being loaded inside. “We’ll come back someday, when it’s safe. And until then, we have each other. We’ll figure it out.”

They sat in relative silence after that, until finally, it was Camille’s turn. They hadn’t even discussed which of them would go first, but apparently Camille understood that there was no way in hell he would let himself be carted away while Camille was left the sole survivor on a dangerous island. He was relieved that he hadn’t been forced to fight that battle with her. It was late. And he was exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally, even spiritually.

He helped to secure Camille in place, and then he kissed her goodbye. Turning his back on her was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he climbed the incline back to a safe distance and then watched as the winch slowly hauled her up into the sky. When she disappeared into the helicopter, he finally tore his eyes away. Richard turned and looked once more at the camp site, then, remembering something, he pulled the handgun from his back waistline and walked over to deposit it with the other weapons, hoping that the next person to find it wouldn’t have reason to use it.

When he walked back to the edge of the camp, he reached down and picked up a smooth, slightly shiny stone. He put it in his pocket, thinking it would make a nice gift the next time Camille was feeling homesick. He looked out through the jungle one more time, just to be sure that no other survivors were making their approach to the X, then finally, he turned to look at the X itself. That haphazard, hodgepodge of tarps and sheets and shower curtains that served as a beacon of hope for so many lives. He hoped it would continue to be exactly that, and that his feet would not be the last two lifted off of this dangerous rock.

Richard walked down to the pickup point right as the rescuer reached the ground again. Richard stepped into the leg straps the way he had seen sixty other people do before him. Then he felt the strap that went around his back, securing him to the chest of the other man.

“You good?” the American asked.

“Ready when you are!” Richard replied, and a moment later, roughly thirteen hours after the rescue began, Richard felt the ground leave from under him and he began his rise into the sky. Watching the island drop farther and farther away was certainly a bitter sweet feeling. It was a moment he frankly never believed would come, and yet now that it was here, he was sad to leave.

He made it to the helicopter and his heart was comforted to see both Camille and Ronnie buckled into their seats there. There was a bit of awkwardness in getting him loaded into helicopter because Richard’s mind was spinning in circles and he was having a hard time listening to the instructions of the coast guard rescuer. But eventually, he was deposited into his seat and buckled in. He was sat across from Camille, but could still reach over and grab her hands in his. And that is how they stayed for the entire flight.

The island disappeared from view out the window and was replaced with the endless expanse of the open sea. Seemingly as soon as the flight had begun, it was ending, and the USNS Comfort came into view. The huge ship looked like a cleaner, crisper battle ship, except it didn’t boast any guns and was painted entirely in a stark white save for three red crosses on its side. The whole vessel reminded Richard of those white caps nurses used to wear in World War II.

When they landed, a surge of medical personnel ran out onto the helipad with blankets and wheelchairs. Camille stepped off first and was immediately wrapped in a blanket and escorted off of the landing pad. Richard made Ronnie go next, and then he finally stepped off of the helicopter, immediately feeling the rocking of the platform below his feet. Just as with the others, a nurse was immediately at his side, wrapping a blanket over his shoulders and hurrying him towards a door.

Inside, Richard entered a queue right behind Ronnie, seeing that at the end of the queue, there was a table where someone was taking down a list of names and then printing information onto a wristband. He watched as Dwayne stuck out his arm to receive one of these bands. Beyond that table, Richard saw another area where medical personnel were seeing to each survivor one-on-one. And beyond that, there were rows and rows of hospital beds, some already occupied, many others waiting to be filled. Without even realizing he was doing so, Richard left his queue and stepped farther into the room. His eyes scanned the crowd and he mentally began a tally.

He saw face after face of people he recognized, all in various stages of a medical examination. Some were standing on scales, some were opening their mouths and saying “Aaa,” some were looking up at the ceiling while a doctor shined a penlight into their eyes, some were having their blood pressure taken, or temperature taken, or ears examined. Richard’s heart swelled with emotion at the sight of Holden being fitted with a blood pressure cuff. Finally, the good doctor was having his own medical needs met.

That swell of emotion just kept building the farther Richard walked. He saw Mrs. Beecher making a nurse laugh. He saw Haley Matheson being given an intravenous drip. He saw Ronnie’s wife holding their son Lukas as he braced himself for a needle in the arm. He saw Cassidy, the poor little girl who had become an orphan through this whole ordeal, and she was sitting on one nurse’s lap while another was looking inside the girl’s ear with an otoscope. He even saw Fidel, resting peacefully in a hospital bed, obviously having been transferred here after spending the night aboard the USCGC Mohawk. A nurse was reading his chart and making an update.

The pressure in Richard’s chest kept building and building. With every face he saw, he inched closer to his breaking point. He knew what was coming, and so he quickened his pace. At the end of the room was a door, and he barreled through it, out into a hallway. He reached out with one hand and caught himself against a wall, and that was it. That was as far as he could go.

The sob that escaped his lips was not a surprise to him, but the volume of it was. Slowly, his knees gave out and he reached forward to brace himself against the wall with his other hand, gradually sliding down its surface until his knees were resting on the ground. His head dipped forward into the crook of his arm, and there, kneeling in that hallway, he wept with everything in him. He wept harder than he had ever wept in his life, in a voice he didn’t even recognize. He hadn’t shed a single tear in everything that had happened for the past six months, and it was like the dam had finally burst and it was all coming at once.

Somewhere, he had acknowledged that someone had tried to tell him “Excuse me sir, you can’t be in here,” but he couldn’t stop his sobs, couldn’t even sit up enough to look at the other person, not with his stomach contracting the way it was, like his abdomen was folded in a vice. His face was practically touching the floor. His tears kept coming in ugly, dripping, shaking sobs, and he let them. He had no choice. He felt a hand smooth over his back and knew instantly who it was.

“Shhh, shhhh,” Camille soothed, gripping his shoulder and resting her head on his hunched back. “They’re safe, Richard. They’re all safe. You can let it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We are approaching the end of this story, and if you're still hanging in there, I thank you and respect you! lol. 
> 
> Originally, this final moment with Richard and Camille in the hallway was the goal of the story. It was the moment I felt everything had been building towards, and the plan was to end the story here. However, I realized once I was finished writing it, that the story still had a little more to say. So I wrote the last two chapters almost as bonus chapters (the 23rd chapter specifically is really more of a small epilogue than a proper chapter). 
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know your thoughts. I absolutely love hearing your commentary of this story as it's been unfolding. So keep those coming, and thank you for your patience with my slow posting schedule as of late.


	22. Appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This is literally my fourth attempt to update this story in the last week. Thank you (as always) for your endless patience. Luckily, I won’t require it of you again because the STORY IS COMPLETE!
> 
> Please be advised: Due to how short the final chapter is, I’ve decided to post both 22 and 23 at the same time so you won’t have to wait a super long time just to read the last 800 words of the story. When you've finished here, be sure to carry on to the last chapter to see how everything ends!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Appearances

Richard hadn’t fully appreciated how badly he smelled until being forced to confront the stench of his body when wet and in a confined space. But after the first few minutes of his shower, and with a liberal application of soap and shampoo, eventually, he started to smell like civilization again.

Richard dried himself with the white towel, scratchy from being washed with bleach too many times, and then tied it around his waist. Stepping up to the sink, he was met with his own reflection for the first time in what felt like ages. Apart from the familiar green of his eyes, Richard recognized almost nothing in himself. His hair was longer than he had ever let it grow before. His face was covered in a beard that was also too long. His skin was red and splotchy from the fervent scrubbing it had received in his shower, and it sported many new wrinkles he was sure must not have been there before. He combed his wet hair back with his fingers, trying to restore some order, then he stepped back from the sink, bringing more of his body into view in the mirror.

He had lost a lot of weight, a frightening amount; that was the story his reflection told. He had known it was happening, but this was his first time seeing the effects of his malnutrition in full force. His collarbone and ribs were startlingly visible, and Richard was disturbed by how easily the bones could be mapped beneath his skin. Yet he was surprised by the muscle definition he saw retained in his arms and shoulders. It wasn’t exactly an impressive physique, by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still surprised that his body had managed to keep much muscle mass at all considering his diet. He had certainly done more manual labor over the last six months than he was used to doing, and that must have played into it. Richard was typically a brain over brawn kind of man, but that mentality didn’t last long in the wilderness.

Still, with the amount of physical exertion he subjected himself to, coupled with the meager nutritional sources he had at his disposal, the overall effects were startling to see. His skin sagged over his chest cavity with almost no substantial weight underneath. In his preliminary medical examination an hour ago, he had clocked in at just over nine stone. That was close to what he had weighed when he was entering university. But the body Richard saw before him was not that of a youthful student but one of a dilapidated, old man. Matched with the bushy, brown beard on his face, he looked like a crazed homeless man.

Not very much liking that assessment, he stepped back up to the sink and reached for the electric razor that had been left in the bathroom for him. He adjusted the guard, flicked the switch, and made eye contact with himself in the mirror again. The buzzing noise and the slight vibration in his hand felt a bolt of empowerment. It was time to find Richard Poole again.

* * *

“Feeling better, Mr. Poole?” nurse Carmen asked as Richard returned to his bed sometime later.

“Much better, thank you,” he replied, sitting down and swinging his cotton-clad legs onto the bed. He felt like a child in these pajamas, the gray U.S. Coast Guard t-shirt and gray sweatpants practically swallowing him whole. But it was a relief to finally feel something soft and clean against his skin again.

The nurse hooked him up to another IV drip and clipped a heart monitor onto his index finger. Richard submitted to the care happily, his eyes drifting over to the empty bed beside him. “Is that bed taken?” he asked.

Nurse Carmen walked over to the front of the bed to check for a chart. “It doesn’t appear to be. Were you wanting to switch?” she asked, confused.

Richard shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I just, um, have a friend who I believe is still in the shower, but, I was wondering if we could save it for her.”

The nurse smiled at him sweetly. “I think we can probably manage that.”

Richard smiled back, although less sweetly, because he felt a little embarrassed by his own request. Nurse Carmen didn’t seem noticeably put off by it, though, and simply went about her business updating his chart.

“Excuse me,” Richard voiced after a few more seconds of silence. When she looked up at him, he asked, “Do you know where we’re sailing?”

She nodded and then informed, “Galveston, Texas. The U.S. has granted you temporary refugee status. So from Galveston, you’ll be shuttled to Houston where you’ll stay at the CDC Quarantine Station for, I think, two weeks of observation and continued medical care.” 

“Quarantine? That’s a bit excessive, isn’t it?”

The young nurse shrugged. “Your group is an interesting case. Not only are you the largest one to come out of the Caribbean islands, but you’re also the first example of a group of people subjected to isolated, prolonged exposure to the alien species. They’re worried you might be passively carrying some kind of pathogen we haven’t encountered yet.”

“You don’t seem particularly worried about catching anything,” the inspector observed, garnering him another smile and a shrug.

“I’m an emergency response nurse,” she said, as if that were as simple as two plus two equaling four. At Richard’s playfully raised eyebrow, she went on, “It’s my responsibility to administer care to the sick. I don’t have the luxury or the time to worry about catching anything.”

Richard smiled at that; he liked this girl.

“And if you want to know my considered medical opinion,” she continued, folding Richard’s chart against her chest and lowing her voice a little conspiratorially. Richard leaned in and a smirk tugged at his lips. “I say, you people have already been exposed for six months, and if you haven’t started sprouting scales or laying eggs in people’s chests by now, then I’d hazard a guess you’re probably in the clear.”

Richard chuckled at that, and fell back against his pillows. He pointed at his nurse and told her, “A very sound assessment.”

Again, the young nurse shrugged, with a little snarky smile. “Yeah well, that’s why they pay me the middle-of-the-road bucks. But unfortunately for you, the CDC doesn’t share the same faith in my educated guesses, so they’d rather be safe than sorry. Which means you get quarantined for a couple weeks.” To her credit, she did seem legitimately sorry for this, but then it was Richard’s turn to shrug.

“I’m certain it will still be a step up from my previous accommodations,” Richard noted, and then instantly came to regret it when he watched the mirth fall from his nurse’s face, to be replaced by something he could only describe as pity. He hadn’t meant to kill the playful conversation, but then again, he wasn’t very good at easy conversation so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he had managed to make her uncomfortable without meaning to.

“Well,” she said presently, “you don’t need to worry about that anymore; you’re safe now. And you’ll be safe where we’re taking you.”

Richard nodded, replaying the last twenty seconds in his mind to determine where he had misstepped. Before he had reached a conclusion, his attention was diverted to the doorway as a familiar form came into view. She made eye contact with him immediately and all thoughts of social awkwardness fled from his mind.

He was thoroughly struck by the adorable image of Camille padding over to him in pajamas that matched his own and which fit her just as poorly. Her hair was wet and loose. She had kept it in a braid pretty much the entire duration of their survival. Seeing it down now, falling past her shoulders in shimmery, kinked ripples was like a breath of fresh air. And when she came to his bed and bent to kiss his cheek, wafting with her the smell of soap and conditioner, it was quite literally a breath of fresh air. He returned her kiss with one on her cheek, almost cringing at how French it felt.

“You kept the beard,” Camille noted, stroking a hand down it as she spoke.

Richard nodded with an affirmative hum. “You showed a certain fondness for it, so I tidied it up a bit.” He didn’t feel like mentioning the fact that his cheeks also looked rather sunken already and he was quite certain it would look worse without the beard.

“I take it this is the friend we were waiting for?” the nurse observed astutely.

“Yes, Nurse Carmen, this is Camille Bordey.”

“His friend,” Camille said, obviously picking up on the identifier with some amusement and casting him a scathing look while she reached out to shake the nurse’s hand.

Nurse Carmen laughed a little at the obvious subtext. “Well, Mr. Poole was wanting to know if we could reserve this bed for you,” she said, indicating the vacant bed right next to Richard’s.

Camille was obviously interested in that idea, but she said, “Oh, they already put me in a different one…over there.” She pointed to indicate the area on the far side of the room.

Nurse Carmen looked over to the section in question and then turned back to the pair, pulling a pad and pen from her uniform pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Can you spell your name for me?”

Camille did this, and then the nurse was retreating, leaving the couple alone.

“What exactly would you like me to call you?” Richard asked when the nurse was a decent distance from them, because obviously “friend” hadn’t been satisfactory.

Camille’s body posture turned a little predatory as she looked down at his lips and said, “Hmm…I can think of a number of things.”

Richard snorted at that, because of course she wasn’t going to give him a proper answer. He pulled up his legs wordlessly and swung them around the side of the bed, making room for her and patting the bed beside him. She joined him and he instantly wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. She leaned against him in a little hug.

“Feeling better?” Camille asked, draping her arm over his thigh while she let herself be held.

Richard’s head bobbed contemplatively. “I think so,” he said. Then, after a few seconds, he added. “This is real, yes? All of this is really happening?”

He heard Camille breathe a smile and then felt her little nod. “Yes. It’s real.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, tightening his grip on her just a little. “Bit hard to wrap your head around though, isn’t it?”

Camille leaned back in his arms to look at him, the expression on her face telling him that she just remembered something. “Have you heard from your parents yet?”

“Not yet,” he replied, feeling a strange tug at his heart when he was reminded of exactly how much he was looking forward to speaking with them. One of the first questions Richard had been asked during his intake interview was regarding his nearest relatives or loved ones. He had given the U.S. Coast Guard all of the relevant information about how to contact his mum and dad. He was told they would reach out as soon as possible to inform Richard’s parents of his rescue, and to expect to be able to make a phone call sometime tomorrow. “It’ll just take time, I think. They have a lot of people to track down. They said maybe tomorrow.”

Camille smiled softly at the gentle tone of voice he used. “Well that will be exciting,” she encouraged.

Richard just pinched his lips together and gave a tiny nod.

Camille laid her head back onto his shoulder, content that that was the most response she was likely to get on the matter. She knew Richard’s relationship with his parents had been somewhat restrained in the past, but despite his reticence to demonstrate so, she also knew that he cared a great deal about both of them. He just tended to be so…English about it. No doubt, Mr. and Mrs. Poole would be thrilled to hear that their only son was alive and well, after months without contact or answers. Camille thought of her own mother, and in a twisted way, she actually felt they were lucky to have gone through this trauma together. At least it wasn’t the horrible worry Richard’s parents must have been sick with for the past six months.

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt.”

Both Richard and Camille looked up when the foreign voice broke them out of their little moment. Camille sat up straighter and Richard released her from his grasp.

“Yes?” Richard asked.

“Are you Richard?”

“Yes that’s right,” he replied, slightly perplexed that this woman seemed to know his name. Unlike the medical staff, she was not dressed in a military or medical uniform. Rather, she wore a soft pink, buttoned top and blue jeans, and had a badge clipped to her pocket that read “Visitor.”

“Just the man I wanted to see then. And you must be Camille?”

“Yes,” the detective sergeant replied, her tone reflecting Richard’s in its hesitancy.

The other woman beamed and offered her hand to them one at a time. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s ours, I’m sure. Miss…?” Richard prompted while he shook the hand that was offered to him.

“Regina Moreland, public relations. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know that I’ll be handling your PR for the time being. Unless, of course, you already had someone else in mind?”

Richard blinked and shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, you’ll be doing what?”

“Handling your PR. I thought you might like a little bit of prep for what will happen when we land in Galveston. We’re supposed to dock at four in the afternoon tomorrow, and the press conference is scheduled for six, in time for the east coast to air it with the evening news.”

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about? What press conference?” he stressed.

Miss Moreland stalled to a stop and realization slowly dawned on her face. “No one cleared it with you?”

Richard cast a questioning glance at Camille, which was echoed back to him just as blankly.

Regina nodded and ran a hand through her lush red hair. “Wow, okay…well…we must have gotten our signals crossed somewhere between the press train and the Coast Guard.” She murmured this almost to herself and Richard could tell that she was trying to decide who she needed to chew out. “They told me you agreed to participate.”

Richard shook his head a little slowly. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I don’t understand why a whole press conference is needed,” Camille said. “Surely we are not the first group you’ve rescued.”

“Not the first, no, but you’re historic nonetheless. There’s never been a group of this size rescued from the Caribbean. And for you guys to come from such a small island is a big surprise as well. Island communities tended to get wiped out by the aliens because there’s no place to run.”

Without a word, Richard and Camille reached for each other’s hand at that news. Richard didn’t know precisely which memories were flashing through Camille’s mind in that moment, but he knew they would be similar to his own. Yes, he could well believe that other island cultures could have been “wiped out” as this woman so delicately put it.

“Before you, the biggest group to be rescued was twenty-one, and that was out of Jamaica, an island fifty times your size.”

Richard felt Camille squeeze his fingers, and all he could do was gulp at the frog that had lodged itself in his throat. His nurse had shared similar news with him a while ago, but he hadn’t stopped to contemplate the exact scale of the presumed death toll until just now.

Their somber reaction was not lost on the American PR expert, and she softened her tone. “I can see this comes as a big shock. I forget you guys haven’t been watching the news for the past six months like the rest of us. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Richard said, his voice small, running a thumb across the back of Camille’s hand. “That’s alright. We understand.”

The woman nodded and thought through a few options, trying to pivot to the best plan B. “Essentially, this press conference is just to establish the basic facts of your survival and rescue. The captain from the Mohawk is going to give an account of the rescue procedure and a timeline of events for the public record. But they were expecting…we were _hoping_ to also hear from one of the survivors,” she said a little pointedly.

“So why me?”

Regina quirked her head a little, like that was a surprising question. “Well because…you’re the one responsible for all of this.”

Richard’s immediate reply was, “I’m not,” and it felt like the truth.

Regina turned her head and eyed him from a side eye. “According to everyone I’ve spoken to, you are.”

“No, you need to speak to Ronnie Cartwright. He’s the one who-”

“But I have talked to him. I’ve talked to just about everyone and they all say the same thing: Richard Poole was the one in charge. He’s the reason they got out.”

Richard was a little dumbfounded. He couldn’t help but let his jaw drop and he turned to cast Camille a look that said, “Can you believe such rubbish?” But frustratingly, she only smirked at him and shrugged with one shoulder.

“But…that’s not true,” Richard insisted. “There were four of us. Ronnie Cartwright, Booker Holden, Camille Bordey, and me. I didn’t do any of it alone. I _couldn’t_ have done any of it alone.”

“Does that mean you won’t do the interview?” Regina asked guardedly.

Richard shook his head and opened his mouth, ready to adamantly state his rejection, when Regina cut off his dismissal before he could get a word out.

“What if I get the others to agree?” she asked quickly. “If it’s all four of you and not just one? Would you do it then?”

Richard turned his head and considered this compromise. But even with that concession, he was about to say no when he was cut off again, this time by Camille’s hand resting gently on his knee. He looked down at it and then up at her as she answered for him, “He will think about it. When do you need an answer?”

“An hour?” Regina suggested.

“That sounds reasonable,” Camille said with a nod, and Richard was left wondering how exactly he had gotten cut out of this conversation. The women exchanged a few more parting words, and a few indicative expressions, and then Regina was pulling out her cell phone and retreating back into the recesses of the medical facility.

Richard turned and gave Camille a look, pursing his lips and cocking one eyebrow at her.

“What?” Camille asked.

“Well obviously I’m going to do it.”

“You are?” Camille seemed genuinely shocked to hear those words, and Richard rather begrudgingly accepted that as the meager victory it was. “But you seemed to hate the idea.”

“And to state for the record: I _do_ hate the idea. I have no desire to stand up as some sort of…fifteen-minute poster boy and take credit for something I really only contributed one fourth to. And that’s the most generous estimate; an argument could be made for one sixty-fourth. So no, I hate the idea and I’d really rather not do it at all. But if that final exchange between the two of you told me anything, it was that you were somehow promising to that woman that you would ‘work on me’ for the next hour, slowing wearing me down until I buckled from the sheer exhaustion of arguing with you. Might as well concede the defeat now and preserve what’s left of my sanity.”

Camille smiled coyly, reaching up to coil a lock of his hair around her finger. “Hmm,” she hummed, like an old fashioned femme fatale. “So you _are_ intelligent.”

“That’s a much kinder word for it than the one I was thinking.”

“Well, thank you. It saves me the trouble of having to bribe you.”

Richard’s ears perked up. “Bribe? Bribe how?”

Camille shrugged theatrically, a playful twinkle in her eye. “Oh, it’s not important. I was just going to suggest something as a reward, but there’s no need now.”

Richard liked to believe that his mother raised a gentleman. But despite himself, the dirtier side of his imagination took hold of the controls when Camille said the word “reward,” and Richard’s breathing stopped for a minute. He must have been looking at her like a codfish, because Camille took one look at him and let loose a chuckle.

“Well,” Richard said, clearing his throat into his fist and sitting up a little straighter, “in the spirit of good faith, seeing as how I agreed to the interview even _before_ I knew there was talk of a reward, the sporting thing to do would be-”

“Oh shut up,” she said and scooted away from him on the bed. Richard briefly took this as a crushing rejection until he realized that she was pulling her legs up on the bed between them and then hiking the fabric of her pajama bottoms all the way up to her knee. This revealed a beautiful, newly shaven leg. She grabbed one of his hands and then moved it to the silky smooth skin of her leg.

Richard’s mouth dropped a little, and when he glanced up at her and caught her cheeky grin, he couldn’t help but match it. “Oh wow!” he said, running his hand along her leg indulgently. “How lovely. Thank you for my present.” He continued to stroke her leg and Camille began to giggle. His fingers dipped around the back of her knee and she started to swat his hand away.

“Okay, don’t be creepy about it,” she said.

“Creepy? What’s creepy about it?” he replied and grabbed her by the ankle, hoisting her leg into the air and causing her to fall backwards on the bed, letting out a little shriek that gave way to giggles. He held her leg up with one hand and gestured at it with the other one. “Now that is a fine leg. Look at it. Perfectly structured and yes,” he drew a single finger down the length of her shin, “quite smooth. I tell you, I’ve never been gifted with a lovelier leg.” 

She pulled her gift away from him and tucked herself into a little ball, tipping over to where her back was to him as she continued to laugh and said, “Why are you so weird?”

Richard repressed a grin, quite pleased with himself, and then gently rolled her back over until she was facing him. He bent over her until his lips reached hers. They kissed for a few seconds before he pulled back just enough to whisper, “I love you, Camille,” to which she replied, “I love you too,” and then they were kissing again.

“Alright you two,” came a familiar voice a moment later, and they parted to find Holden approaching the bed across from Richard’s. “Not that I’m surprised, but do try to remember that you haven’t got a private room yet.”

Richard sat up and allowed Camille to do the same, clearing his throat a little uncomfortably.

“You’re looking spiffy,” Camille said to their newly arrived companion.

“Yes,” Richard added, taking in the sight of his friend, all brushed and polished. “Who knew there was a perfectly respectable-looking doctor under all of that grime?”

“I know what you mean,” Holden said, smirking and running a hand over the smoothness of his cheek. “I feel I could deliver a lecture this very instant. Pajamas be damned.”

“Interesting you mention that,” Camille said, swiveling on Richard’s bed to face the other man. “There will be a press conference tomorrow and they want to interview some of us about our survival. Will you help?”

“A press conference. Well that’s a bit intimidating, isn’t it?” Holden said.

Camille nodded, “Oui, that is why Richard is too afraid to do it unless we join him.”

Richard scoffed defensively, “That is _not_ why. I’ve talked to the press before.”

“Safety in numbers, is it?” the doctor continued, as if not even hearing Richard’s protest. At Camille’s nod, he shrugged and said, “Alright then. I’ll go along.”

Camille clapped victoriously and then flung her legs over the side of Richard’s bed to hop off.

“Where are you off to?” Richard asked, not liking her leaving when they were having such a nice moment before the doctor spoiled it.

“I’m going to talk to Ronnie. If he agrees to do it, then I’ll go tell the reporter lady that we will all do the interview.”

Richard didn’t get to respond to that before she had turned and was weaving her way through the maze of hospital beds in search of their final member.

“She’s in a good mood,” Holden noted, pulling back the covers on his bed and climbing inside.

“Look around doctor, we all are,” Richard replied.

“True,” Holden said with a smile as he tucked himself in. He turned on his side to face his friend as Richard also leaned back against his pillows. “So when’s the wedding?” Holden asked, only half joking.

Richard snorted and then said, “Sometime after the proposal, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“And when’s that?”

Richard thought about it seriously, his eyes following Camille’s trail, even though she had disappeared from sight. “As soon as I can manage it,” he said soberly. “As soon as I can find a ring, really.”

“That may be hard to do,” Holden said, causing Richard to look back over to him. “Word on the street is they’re about to lock us up in a bubble for a bit. Not sure they’ll have many jewellers there.”

Richard bit his bottom lip in thought. That was certainly a good point. “Maybe I can have my parents post one to me. We can receive parcels, can’t we?”

Holden hiked his shoulders, unable to guess. Then after a moment, he asked, “Do you need a proper ring though? I mean, I know it’s unorthodox, but couldn’t you pop the question without?”

“I could, certainly. But…I just think she deserves to have one.”

“I don’t disagree there.”

“Plus, I’d just…really like to see her wearing one. Knowing I put it there,” Richard turned to look at his friend. “You know?” he asked.

Holden nodded, a pleasing smirk at his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

Camille returned sometime later, happily heralding the news that Ronnie had agreed to do the press conference which meant all four of them were now on board. Even though Richard still disliked the idea of being the public face of their survival, it did feel better knowing that his friends would also be sharing the credit they rightly deserved. So with all three of them agreeing to do it, he was willing to also give his support, and Regina was allowed to alert the news outlets that they’d be hearing from the survivors of St. Marie at the press conference.

Nurses came by shortly after and delivered trays of food to each patient. Richard, Holden, and Camille marveled at the relative feast before them. It was even better than the survival package that had been airdropped onto the island. They had a vegetable soup, cutlets and gravy, green beans, potatoes, and to top it all off, a small cookie preserved in a little plastic baggie. Everything was in small portions so as not to overwhelm their recovering digestive systems, but the sheer variety of flavors felt like a royal feast compared to the bland sustenance they received on the island. Richard fiddled with the twist-tie from his dessert’s packaging as he listened to Holden and Camille banter about English vs French pastry.

When their meals were finished, the nurses collected their trays and then it was time to go to bed. It didn’t take long before Richard and Camille decided to try to move their beds closer together. Tonight was going to be their first night alone in separate beds, and neither of them much liked that idea. They couldn’t deduce how to remove the clunky handlebars that flanked both of their mattresses, so in the end, they had to settle for having their beds _near_ each other but not exactly combined.

As they settled in for the night, Richard reached his hand through the handlebars and felt Camille’s fingers curl around his index and middle fingers. Richard stroked along the back of one of her knuckles with his thumb as he tried to fall asleep.

Something was off, and he couldn’t quite place it. Apart from being restricted from holding Camille, there was something else about his hospital bed that Richard found bothersome.

After twenty minutes or so of silence, Richard wasn’t terribly surprised to see Camille poke her head over the barrier that separated them and say, “Can you sleep?”

Richard shook his head against his pillow, staring up at her shadowed face.

“Me neither,” she whispered, stating the obvious.

“Want to come over here?” Richard offered.

“I don’t think it’s big enough.”

“We made that little mat work for three months.”

Before Camille could respond, they heard a rustling from the other side of Richard’s bed. They both turned and watched as Holden dropped his pillow onto the floor and then followed it with his blanket. As the doctor climbed out of his bed, Camille whispered at him, “What are you doing?”

“The bed is too soft,” he said, a little sheepishly, and then settled himself onto the hard ground.

Richard turned back to Camille and they shared a beat of consideration before they both began to gather up their pillows and blankets and toss them down onto the floor. It took a bit of coordination, as they both still had intravenous tubes attached to their arms, but eventually, they had created another little nest for themselves.

Yes, this felt right. They settled onto the ground and Richard tucked them in, just as he had done countless nights in the cave. The cold, hard floor of the ship’s deck felt inviting somehow, a comforting stability that the bed couldn’t provide. And best of all, there was no gap between them now. Richard lifted his arm and Camille immediately cuddled into his side, passing one leg over him and hooking around him with her ankle. He kissed the top of her head, and then turned when he heard a sound.

He could see down rows and rows of beds, staring through gaps in the legs of the innovative hospital beds. About ten rows down or so, he saw Lily Shaw follow suit, dropping her things down onto the floor and settling in for the night. She looked over at him and Camille and smiled, passing them a little wave. Richard nudged Camille to show her, and as he did, he also saw Haley Matheson climb down beside Lily, then Owen was soon following suit. Every time a new person descended to the lower level, they all had a little chuckle and a wave.

“Looks like you started something, Doctor,” Richard whispered.

“What can I say? I’m a trend setter,” Holden replied with a yawn.

Finally feeling at ease, Richard let his head fall back against the pillow. It would probably take them a while to get used to normal life again; an inability to use a proper mattress was evidence of that. If he was being practical, he would say that “normal” might be a far way off still. It wasn’t clear what exactly was on the immediate horizon for them, but if every night ended like this, with the woman he loved in his arms, then he was certain whatever the next chapter held would be manageable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are you waiting for? On to chapter 23! (Right after leaving a comment below. Pretty please.)


	23. Their Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised: Due to how short the final chapter is, I’ve decided to post both 22 and 23 at the same time so you won’t have to wait a super long time just to read the last 800 words of the story. 
> 
> If you've accidentally come straight to the most recent chapter, TURN BACK! Go read chapter 22 and then come back to this one. You're welcome.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Their Story

“You’ll enter and see a table which will have all of your microphones on it. Walk all the way down to the end before sitting down. You all look great, by the way,” Regina stated, straightening Ronnie’s collar.

Richard pulled on his shirt nervously and then tucked it into his belt again. He enjoyed the feeling of a nicely starched shirt against his skin again, but was also unnerved by how foreign it felt at the same time. Camille held a small pocket mirror and used it to carefully dab a tissue against the corner of her eyelid, correcting some minute mistake she had made when applying her makeup. Holden kept fidgeting with his feet, like his shoes didn’t fit totally right. And Ronnie kept messing with his cuffs like he had never worn sleeves before. All things considered, Richard felt like they were nothing more than a bunch of children playing dress-up. It felt odd, being uncomfortable in his old normal.

Regina continued to prep them. “Captain Stewart will introduce you to the room and then deliver his statement, after which, he will open the floor for questions. The reporters all know that none of you have had time to prepare a formal statement, so they have been instructed to keep their questions softball. But if they ask anything you don’t want to answer, just tell them ‘I am not prepared to share those details at this time,’ and they’ll back off.” Then, as if catching herself, she corrected. “They _should_ back off.”

The four of them all exchanged an uneasy expression, but there was no time to really digest that tidbit before Regina was ushering them towards a door. “Okay, remember, move all the way down before taking your seat.”

The door opened and Richard reached behind his back as lights started to flash in his face. He felt Camille’s hand slip into his own and give him a squeeze. He held onto her hand tightly and then walked into the large room. Richard led the train of survivors up onto the platform, walked all the way down to the far left of the table, and then helped Camille into her chair before sitting down in his.

Richard stared out over the room of reporters, trying not to squint as their cameras flashed in his face in time with the clicks from their shutters. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged what the U.S. Captain was saying in his statement, but mainly, Richard was distracted by watching the way the reporters were sizing him up and scribbling away furiously at their notepads. His heart beat fast as he realized he felt very much like a mannequin in a window display. With relief, he noticed that there was a glass of water right in front of him, and he nervously brought it to his lips for a drink.

When he lowered the glass, he heard his name being spoken and realized that the captain was now introducing his team. How was that possible? It felt like the captain’s statement had scarcely begun. Was it over already?

“They will take your questions at this time,” he heard the captain say, and then the room erupted in activity.

“Where were you when the ETs first attacked?”

“How did you feed so many people?”

“How did you avoid detection by the extraterrestrials?”

“Did you lose anybody?”

“When did you lose power?”

“What is your best advice for those still dealing with the ET problem?”

“Who was in charge?”

All of the questions came in such rapid succession that Richard’s head spun just trying to comprehend them all. Captain Stewart jumped in and quieted the crowd, telling them that they would have to go one at a time. While this was happening, Richard reeled from the onslaught and turned to look down the table at his friends.

The three others all looked to him with equally overwhelmed expressions. Richard heard a lone voice repeat her question, “Where were you when the ETs attacked?” and it occurred to Richard that the other three were looking to him to answer the first question.

Looking back over the crowd, Richard’s throat felt dry again. He was about to reach forward to take another drink when a hand closed over his from beneath the table. He turned his hand over and grasped Camille’s thankfully. He brushed over the twist-tie that enwrapped her ring finger, and smiled softly to himself, knowing that he had put it there.

Feeling all of the courage he needed, Richard cleared his throat and leaned in to the microphone. “Well,” he said, “technically, they aren’t extraterrestrials.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da!! We have finally reached the end. And what a journey it was! I am always super hard on my own work, but I am very pleased with how this story turned out. I love it so much.
> 
> A heartfelt thanks to every single one of my readers, particularly those of you who entertained and delighted me with your very thoughtful reviews and comments. I love to see you guys engaging with my story. And for all of you secret readers, the ones who just read quietly in a secluded corner of their laptops and phone screens and never say hello, you matter to me too. Thank you for clicking and reading. I really hope you enjoyed this fic.
> 
> And before you ask, yes, a sequel to this is in the works. It will revolve around Richard and Camille’s new life off of the island. They will be faced with having to balance marriage, family, careers, therapy, and the sort of pseudo celebrity that comes with being part of a major news story. 
> 
> Fair warning though, the story you just finished reading took me a year and a day to write (literally). So it will be a while before you start seeing chapters for the sequel. In the meantime, I would LOVE to know what your final thoughts were on The Surfacing! Please tell me everything!
> 
> Thank you once again to my fantastic beta, whose consistency and honesty helped this story improve at every turn. And thank you once again for reading. You guys are the best!


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